


"SK"

by artificiallifecreator, pickleplum



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Disabled Character, Drift Compatibility, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 19,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificiallifecreator/pseuds/artificiallifecreator, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickleplum/pseuds/pickleplum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck Hansen wasn't always supposed to be his father's co-pilot, but no plan survives contact with the enemy.</p><p>NOTE: This is a superseded version of the ongoing tale "<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5653612/">Skeleton Key</a>" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/5653612/)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He's My Copilot

Chuck frowns as the Shed's leading gossips set up shop directly behind him in the Rec Room. So much for his crossword.

"Didya hear about the new Fightmaster? Laid out Big Jones and Parata—,"

No hard feelings for Jackson 'the Klingons are from Uranus, not the Vulcans, asswipe' Jones and _Triton_ 's right half is a douchebag.

"—made Little Jones cry—,"

'Bout time someone smacked Logan down a peg or eight.

"—and nearly broke Davies' arm when she wouldn't yield."

Which is exactly why she should be _Triton_ 's right.

"And that was just this morning. Yesterday he pinned the Dog even though the bastard hit him with a low shot that had him limping."

"The big ginger?"

"Only one to beat him, but it was a near thing. They went to five and I'm pretty sure Herc only got him by sneaking up from behind."

Chuck snorts.

"You think you could take this guy, Junior?"

"Sure." Chuck pushes to his feet. "Let's go."

'This guy' lounges against the wall of the gym, watching a mixed group of marines and techs spar with a smile on his face.

Mid-match, he separates himself from his perch and demonstrates how to break a wrist hold.

The tech beams in gratitude.

The new guy bobs his head and retreats to his post.

Chuck swaggers straight into his space.

The new guy looks down at Chuck and raises an eyebrow.

The dog tags around his neck read: VOS, PIETR A.

Chuck scowls. "Best of five falls?"

Vos cocks his head, then nods and straightens.

The crowd parts in front of Chuck and every head in the room turns. Money changes hands around the margins.

Vos steps to the center of the mats and bows.

Chuck nods and charges him.

Vos sidesteps, grabs Chuck's trailing wrist, and flips him to the ground.

Chuck rolls and snakes out a leg, catches Vos' ankle with his foot, and pulls him off-balance.

Vos falls to one knee and Chuck feints for his center of mass. He alters course, seizes Vos' arm, yanks it into a lock behind his back, and presses his face to the mat. "On three?"

Vos doesn't reply.

"One ... Two ... Three." Chuck hops off of Vos' back and takes a position a few steps away.

After a beat, Vos reclaims his feet and relaxes into a ready stance.

As Chuck circles, Vos waves his hands about.

::You must be the red-haired Ranger's son. You move the same way.::

"That supposed to be intimidating, Blondie? Fairy magic doesn't work on me, mate."

::You don't know I'm signing, do you?::

"Still not working," Chuck singsongs.

Vos rolls his eyes and huffs as Chuck edges closer.

"You're **good** ," Chuck admits after his third fall.

Vos, still smiling—the prick—pulls him to his feet.

::Thanks. You, too.::

A voice from the back of the room yells, "Hey, Short Stack!"

Chuck's jaw clenches. "What, Logan," he spits.

"I think you and Blondie might be Compatible."

Chuck stills at the capital letter. He narrows his eyes and examines Vos.

"Or he's got a really weird concept of foreplay."

Chuck grinds his teeth.

::Why are you looking at me like that?::

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why aren't you saying anything? Are you **trying** to piss me off?"

Vos telegraphs he’s no threat, be calm, and scans the crowd. ::Anyone have a pencil and paper?::

"It's not 'fairy magic,' Chuckles!" calls the other Jones brother. "He's trying to talk to you."

"And you can't talk like a normal person?" growls Chuck.

Vos rolls his eyes.

"He's deaf as a post, asswipe!"

"Fuck you, Jackson!"

Vos shrugs.

"Good luck with your new boyfriend," cackles Logan.

Chuck seethes but can’t take his eyes off Vos.

"You. Me. Kwoon. Now."

::Not even dinner first?:: Vos stifles what might be a laugh and gestures for Chuck to lead the way.

Somehow Marshal Nguyen arrives before they do and stands at attention in the observer's position. "You know the rules, gentlemen. Four strikes marks a win and, Mister Hansen, please try to avoid breaking Mister Vos' nose."

Vos, his back to the Marshal, glances about in confusion as the large—and growing—audience snickers.

Chuck grumbles. "The idiot should've ducked."

Vos flashes a quick smile. He bows and strolls onto the mat, swinging the hanbo loosely held in his left hand.

"Do you even know what we're doing, mate? That's not a cane."

::It's not a pool cue, either.::

"If you've got time to talk, you've got time to fight."

Vos beckons with his empty hand.

"Stop stalling, Blondie! Make a move before we're **both** old!"

"Mister Hansen, this is not the time or place for trash talk."

Chuck's expression turns murderous.

Vos smirks.

Chuck growls and squares his feet.

Vos silently does the same.

They nod.

Chuck flies across the mat slightly faster than Vos raises his guard. His late block turns a bruised shoulder into a solid smack.

One-zero.

An immediate wild swing for Vos' other shoulder lands Chuck hard on his face, as Vos evades and pulls Chuck’s feet from under him.

One-one.

Vos dodges and parries for two full circuits of the Kwoon before dropping to his knees and poking the end of his hanbo into Chuck's sternum.

One-two.

"I could've taken your head off, ya fruit loop."

Vos smiles indulgently as he hops back to his feet.

The hanbo stops an inch from the center of Vos' forehead, Chuck having battered through his guard, using the full width of the Kwoon to do so.

Two-two.

"What're you so smug about?"

Chuck feints twice before ducking under Vos' arm and thumping him in the lower back with his hanbo.

Three-two.

Vos turns and waggles a finger at Chuck.

A flurry of blows knocks the hanbo from Chuck's grip and the final strike barely brushes his jugular.

Three-three.

"Oh, **now** you're worked up enough to actually **fight**!"

Vos only shrugs.

Chuck grins.

After minutes of circling and exchanging blows and parries, a lightning-fast low sweep drops Vos on his ass.

Four-three.

He grins up at a beaming Chuck. ::You can be a sneaky little fucker when you want to be.::

"I've got no clue what you just said."

::I know you don’t.::

Chuck offers a hand and pulls Vos to his feet.

"Four points to three in favor of Mister Hansen," Nguyen announces.

"He's my co-pilot," Chuck declares, stepping up to stand toe-to-toe with the Marshal.

Nguyen's lips twitch in a suppressed smile. "The two of you certainly **seem** Compatible. We'll have to try you in the simulator to be sure. Mister Vos will need to agree as well."

::Sorry, sir, what do I need to agree to?::

"Does anyone here sign?" Nguyen calls.

An arm sticks up near the wall. "I can!"

"Then why are you back there? Translate for Mister Vos, please."

"He asked what you're asking him to agree to."

"I would like to know if you're willing to test your Drift Compatibility with Mister Hansen. If the two of you **are** Compatible, you would start training as a Ranger to become Mister Hansen's co-pilot in _Striker Eureka_."

Chuck's head snaps around to watch Vos' reaction.

Vos' eyes widen. ::Train as a Ranger, sir?::

Nguyen nods.

::Yes, sir! I agree!::

"Even though you'll be working with Mister Hansen?"

::Of course, sir. What's wrong with Mister Hansen?::

The crowd explodes in laughter.

Chuck goes tomato-red and clenches his fists at his sides.

When Chuck moves toward the loudly guffawing Jones brothers with violence in his eyes, Vos falls into step beside him.

The Joneses instantly sober and retreat. Jackson signals surrender.

Chuck smirks and glances over at his co-pilot.

Vos grins right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 January 2019
> 
> Keep in mind the Chuck we're dealing with here is all of fifteen.


	2. Small Talk

Chuck wanders through the Shed's vegetable garden, past the tomatoes and peppers, Max padding at his heels. In a distant corner, he finds Vos leaning against the greenhouse, basking the late afternoon glow with his eyes closed against the sun.

Chuck clears his throat.

No response.

Chuck grits his teeth.

Deaf. Right.

He shifts so his shadow falls across Vos.

Vos cracks an eye. He smiles and pats the ground next to himself.

Chuck sits.

Max wiggles into Vos' lap.

Vos picks up a pencil and rests a notepad across Max's back. -Knew you'd find me- he writes.

Chuck glowers at his dog, but shrugs. "The Marshal wants us to talk."

Vos nods. -Same orders-

"So why'd you hide?" Chuck grumbles.

-You = impatient. Why look when you would? Saves me the work- Vos smirks.

"You're an asshole."

Vos shrugs. -The shoe fits. What should I call you?-

"Chuck. You?"

-Pietr-

"Umm ... how d'ya say that?"

-Peter-

"Oh. Right."

They pause awkwardly.

-Hometown?-

"Here. Sydney. Well ..." Chuck rubs the back of his neck. "Across the harbour. The off-limits part. How 'bout you?"

-Koffiefontein, South Africa-

"South Africa? What're you doing **here**?"

-Job-

"How'd you get in, anyway?"

-PPDC = desperate? Crap grades but I fight pretty well-

"Yeah, you're kinda a monster. Did you **really** make one of the Jones brothers cry?"

Pietr furrows his brows. He traces a line across his forehead and pulls an exaggerated scowl.

"That's Logan Jones." Chuck snickers.

Pietr mimes 'into' and taps his elbow. -Bloody nose, watery eyes-

Chuck snorts. "Too bad. He's an asshole."

Pietr studies Chuck for moment. -You're one angry kid-

Chuck huffs. "I'm **not** a kid. How old are **you**?"

-22. You?-

"Fifteen."

Pietr blinks.

"That a problem?"

Pietr gestures 'relax.' -Surprised. You hit hard for a kid-

Chuck brightens, then scowls.

Pietr sighs. -You ≠ full size, strength. Still growing?-

"Yeah. My old man says he didn't stop 'til he was eighteen." He sighs.

Pietr raises confused eyebrows.

"My dad."

-Ranger, red?- He touches his hair.

"Yeah."

-Thought so-

Chuck bristles. "Why?"

Pietr roll his eyes. -Obvious. You fight like him-

"If yer so smart, why'd you nearly let me take you head off?"

-Knew you wouldn't-

"I smashed a guy's nose!"

Max snuffles and wriggles off Pietr to lick Chuck's hand.

-I trust you-

Chuck gapes. "You … You're crazy."

Pietr grins. -I'm your co-pilot. Dinner?-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 January 2019, a bit after the previous chapter


	3. Strong and Holding

> (Two pilots on board and ready to connect.)
> 
> (Prepare for neural handshake.)
> 
> (Initiating neural handshake.)

"You ready, Pietr?"

No response.

_He can't hear me. Right._

> (Thirty.)

_Please, god, let this work._

> (Twenty.)

_I can't screw this up again._

> (Ten.)

_I can't lose_ Striker.

> (Neural handshake initiating.)

Griet laughs with red ribbons in her ash blonde hair.

You scream as Uncle Scott yanks you from Mum's arms.

Pappa back from the mine hoists you onto his shoulders.

Dad sobs into the shoulder of your t-shirt.

The air smells of endless pots of strong black coffee.

Iodine burns the back of your throat.

Geel fetches sticks in the dusty backyard under a crystal blue sky.

Max snuffles against your neck.

Mamma kisses you goodnight.

Mum kisses you goodnight.

> (Right hemisphere calibrating.)

_Raise arms. First form._

> (Left hemisphere calibrating.)

_Brace legs. Second form._

> (Ready to activate the Jaeger.)

"I don't believe it."

> (Pilot to Jaeger connection complete.)

"Neural handshake strong and holding."

LOCCENT exhales.

"It's a fucking miracle."

"Language, Commander. There had to be someone compatible with Mister Hansen. It was only a matter of time until we found them. Mister Simms, start the paperwork to have Mister Hansen and Mister Vos begin accelerated pilot training. And request Lightcap’s lab get Mister Vos properly classified."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 January 2019


	4. Ghosting

Chuck flops onto Pietr's bed. ::Thank you,:: he signs.

::For what?::

::Striker.::

::She was yours before.::

::Not without a co-pilot.::

::Was still yours.::

::She's ours now.::

::Not official yet.::

"Will be."

Pietr grins and nods. ::Coffee?::

"Ghost Drift's wearing off. Sorry." He yawns. "Isn't supposed to last this long first go."

Pietr shrugs. ::Maybe we're special.:: He picks up his percolator waves it in Chuck's direction.

"Sure."

Pietr slouches in a chair and Chuck dozes while the coffee bubbles on the hotplate.

Chuck snorts awake when Pietr nudges his arm with a warm mug.

"Thanks."

They toast.

Chuck chokes and splutters. "What **is** this stuff?" 

Pietr rolls his eyes and gulps another mouthful.

"Oil, maybe." He raises his cup. "Not coffee."

::Still drinking.::

"Need caffeine." Chuck yawns again. "Why'd they test us so late?" he grumbles.

Pietr snorts over the rim of his mug.

Chuck sips again. The black stuff manages to cooperate this time.

That's all they do for a few minutes.

"Who's she?" Chuck asks, bobbing his chin at a picture taped above Pietr's bed. "She's all over your head."

Pietr taps his ring finger against his mug.

_Tink tink tink._

"Your wife?"

Pietr beams and nods.

"You're **married**?!"

-3 years-

"But you're  **young**!"

Pietr frowns. -So? Love her-

Chuck chews his lip. "Miss 'er?"

Pietr rolls his eyes 'of course.'

"Why'd you leave her?"

Pietr snarls. - **DID NOT** - He smooths the page. -No work there. Not safe here-

Chuck snorts. "Yeah. Not safe here, alright."

-Hurts still-

"You got no idea."

-I felt. I know-

"But you still have family. I only got my old man. And uncle."

-My family = Yours-

"Wha?"

Pietr points to himself, then Chuck. -Brothers-  He suddenly looks very pleased with himself and tosses the pad on the bed. He  digs in his footlocker, reappearing with a triumphant look and a small mountain of photographs which he pushes into Chuck's hands. Pietr reclaims the notebook and joins him, gesturing 'look.'

The woman with ribbons in her hair. Pietr's wife.

-Griet-

_Shiff._

Pietr between two men with similar faces.

-Brothers- He points to the shorter one. -Nikolaas- He points to the other. -Maarten-

_Shiff._

Pietr sitting with an older man with the same nose.

-Father-

_Shiff._

His father with an older woman.

-and Mother-

"They still around?"

Pietr nods.

_Shiff._

Pietr, covered in grime, up to his elbows in the engine compartment of a truck.

_Shiff._

With Griet, painting a wall bright blue.

_Shiff._

The pair in the door of a little white house.

_Shiff._

A young Pietr, grinning, his arms around a shaggy dog.

Chuck swipes at his eyes. "Still have the dog?"

Pietr shakes his head.

"What's his name?"

-Geel-

"That mean somethin'?"

Pietr shuffles pictures and points to his brother's shirt.

"Yellow."

Pietr nods.

"Silly name."

Pietr shrugs and holds his hand a couple of feet above the floor.

"Yeah ... kids are stupid."

Pietr rolls his eyes and ruffles Chuck's hair.

Chuck swats lazily at his hands. "That's not how ya treat a co-pilot!"

::Perfect for a brother, though.::

"Need to teach you to talk."

::Need to teach you—:: Pietr pokes Chuck's chest ::—to sign.::

"I don't know what you said."

-Yet-

Chuck snorts. "Listen—"

Pietr crosses his arms and telegraphs 'really?'

"Oh. Right. I don't wanna go back yet. Can I hang out here?"

Pietr nods, then lights up with an idea. He paws through his footlocker again and returns with a small box. He passes it to Chuck.

"Pokémon? You serious?"

-Strategy. Good training-

"You're a Fightm—Ranger and you play kids' games?"

-Still a fight-

"Yer the **nuttiest**  Ranger I've met."

-Afraid I'll kick your ass?-

"Bring it on, Blondie."

Pietr smirks.

Chuck falls asleep halfway through the game.

Smiling, Pietr quietly picks up the cards and rinses the mugs in the sink. He shakes his head fondly before he gathers Chuck up and carries him from the room, taking a long route to the Hansen quarters to avoid other late night travelers.

Herc hears a thumping against the door to his quarters. He opens it, ready to scold. "Oh. Vos."

Pietr inclines his head.

Herc glances at the bundle of Chuck in Pietr's arms. "Oh. Uh. Thanks. Was wondering where he got to."

Pietr points his chin over Herc's shoulder.

"Right. C'min. Bed's this way."

Herc pulls down the blankets and Pietr eases Chuck into bed. 

Max hops onto the mattress and snuggles into the curve of Chuck's back.

Pietr and Herc retreat to the office portion of the Hansens' quarters.

"Congratulations on the test. You did well."

Pietr nods thanks. He mimes writing.

Herc shuffles papers on his desk until he finds an old notebook and a pen.

-Thanks- He glances up. -You OK with us?-

"Whad'ya mean?"

Pietr points to himself, then nods at the partition.

"Don't see I have much choice."

Pietr raises an eyebrow.

"It's Command's call now."

-You can stop it-

Herc studies his boots. "He's always wanted this."

Pietr sniffs and lowers his brow skeptically.

Herc shrugs. "Since his mum died."

Pietr nods.

"Why'd **you**  want it?"

-Because I can do it- He hesitates, tapping the pen against the paper. -And he needs me-

Herc blinks.

Pietr taps the side of his head.

"Lotta noise in there, yeah?"

Pietr shakes his head. 

-Sadness, Fear, Love- He flips to a clean page. -Simple- He jerks his thumb toward himself. -Same-

Herc twists the ring he wears; flicks his eyes to Pietr's. "You have kids?"

Pietr shakes his head.

"When you do, keep 'em away from this. Keep 'em safe."

-I will-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 January 2019, late evening/night


	5. Wager

**From:** Marshal Thomas Nguyen (M-TNGU_263.29-M@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Tuesday, January 6, 2018 @ 14:28 AEDT (03:28 GMT) from Sydney Shatterdome, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** Friendly Wager

You, my friend, owe me $50.

 

* * *

**From:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Monday, January 5, 2018 @ 19:23 AKST (04:23 GMT) from Anchorage Shatterdome, Anchorage, Alaska, United States   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Marshal Thomas Nguyen (M-TNGU_263.29-M@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Friendly Wager

Refresh my memory. Which wager have I lost?

 

* * *

**From:** Marshal Thomas Nguyen (M-TNGU_263.29-M@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Tuesday, January 6, 2018 @ 15:42 AEDT (04:42 GMT) from Sydney Shatterdome, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Friendly Wager

I found someone capable of a stable neural handshake with young Mister Hansen.

Before you ask, yes, he is willing to do it again.

$50, please.

 

* * *

**From:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Monday, January 5, 2018 @ 19:50 AKST (04:50 GMT) from Anchorage Shatterdome, Anchorage, Alaska, United States   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Marshal Thomas Nguyen (M-TNGU_263.29-M@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Friendly Wager

Congratulations.

I'll wire the money in the morning.

Am I familiar with this hardy soul?

 

* * *

**From:** Marshal Thomas Nguyen (M-TNGU_263.29-M@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Tuesday, January 6, 2018 @ 15:57 AEDT (04:57 GMT) from Sydney Shatterdome, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Friendly Wager

I doubt it. Pietr A. Vos (PVOS-244910).

He's a Fightmaster now, but he almost washed out of the Academy. They didn't even test him for Drift Compatibility.

 

* * *

**From:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Monday, January 5, 2018 @ 20:17 AKST (05:17 GMT) from Anchorage Shatterdome, Anchorage, Alaska, United States   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Marshal Thomas Nguyen (M-TNGU_263.29-M@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Friendly Wager

Doesn't look like much on paper.

Is this right? He's profoundly deaf?

 

* * *

**From:** Marshal Thomas Nguyen (M-TNGU_263.29-M@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Tuesday, January 6, 2018 @ 16:28 AEDT (05:28 GMT) from Sydney Shatterdome, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Friendly Wager

Completely. Can't hear a thing.

Didn't stop him from flattening all my Rangers—Hansen Senior got in a lucky tackle, Junior managed a draw.

 

* * *

**From:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Monday, January 5, 2018 @ 20:31 AKST (05:31 GMT) from Anchorage Shatterdome, Anchorage, Alaska, United States   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Marshal Thomas Nguyen (M-TNGU_263.29-M@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Friendly Wager

Impressive.

Again, congratulations on your find.

 

* * *

**From:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Monday, January 5, 2018 @ 20:33 AKST (05:33 GMT) from Anchorage Shatterdome, Anchorage, Alaska, United States   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Ranger Hercules Hansen (R-HHAN_832.84-G@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** Little Birds

A little bird tells me you almost lost a sparring match the other day. Maybe you're getting too old for this job.

 

* * *

**From:** Ranger Hercules Hansen (R-HHAN_832.84-G@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Tuesday, January 6, 2018 @ 16:47 AEDT (05:47 GMT) from Sydney Shatterdome, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Little Birds

New guy's a beast. Took us all.

 

* * *

**From:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Monday, January 5, 2018 @ 20:49 AKST (05:49 GMT) from Anchorage Shatterdome, Anchorage, Alaska, United States   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Ranger Hercules Hansen (R-HHAN_832.84-G@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Little Birds

You happy with him having Chuck's back?

 

* * *

**From:** Ranger Hercules Hansen (R-HHAN_832.84-G@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Tuesday, January 6, 2018 @ 16:50 AEDT (05:50 GMT) from Sydney Shatterdome, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Little Birds

He's the best I've seen who can line up with the sprog.

 

* * *

**From:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Monday, January 5, 2018 @ 20:51 AKST (05:51 GMT) from Anchorage Shatterdome, Anchorage, Alaska, United States   
**Encryption:** None  
 **To:** Ranger Hercules Hansen (R-HHAN_832.84-G@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Little Birds

You didn't answer my question.

 

* * *

**From:** Ranger Hercules Hansen (R-HHAN_832.84-G@ppdc.mil)   
**Sent:** Tuesday, January 6, 2018 @ 16:55 AEDT (05:55 GMT) from Sydney Shatterdome, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia   
**Encryption:** None   
**To:** Marshal Stacker Pentecost (M-SPEN_970.89-Q@ppdc.mil)   
**Subject:** RE: Little Birds

Since it can't be me or you, he'll do.


	6. Hypothetical

"Boring."

_Click._

"Normal."

_Click._

"Boring."

_Click._

"Boring."

_Click._

"Yawn."

_Click._

"Normal."

_Click._

"Bor—Doctor Lightcap!"

"What is it?"

"You’ll want to look at this."

_Footsteps._

_A chair pushes back._

"Results from Chuck Hansen's latest Drift."

"Nguyen put **another** guy in the sim? I **told** him to run **any** candidate past me first." _A sigh._ "How bad is it?"

"Just ... just look."

_Click. Click-click-click._

"Is that ... ?"

"Another fifty-A. But look at the alignment scan."

_A chair squeaks under sudden weight._

"Oh my god."

"Doesn't affect this Vos guy at all."

"Pulls him to ninety-eight percent."

"Your hypothetical."

"He shouldn't exist."

"We found him."

 _Deep breath._ "How did we miss him?"

"Say here ... " _Papers shuffle._ " ... grades were too low to qualify for Compatibility testing. He nearly washed out."

"Oh my god."

"But we found him."

"What if Nguyen hadn't—what if he asked and I said no?"

"Hansen wouldn't have a co-pilot, _Striker_ would go to someone else, and you wouldn't have because you trust his judgement."

"We almost lost him."

"But we didn't."

_A chair pushes back._

"We need to get to Sydney. **Now.** "

"I'll pack the champagne."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5 January 2019, very early morning


	7. Wakeup Call

_Puuu-rrrringggg puu-rrrringggg puu-rrrringggg_

"Oi! Old man!"

Silence.

Right. Patrol.

Chuck explodes out of bed, sending Max scrabbling to the floor, and dives for the vid-con.

_Connecting._

_Tap tap tap_

_Connecting..._

_Tap tap tap_

_Connected!_

"Mako!"

"Good mor—"

"I found 'im!"

"Found whom?"

"My co-pilot! For _Striker_!"

Silence.

"Say somethin', Mako. Don't leave me hangin' here."

"That's … wonderful for you, Chuck."

"Yeah! I'm over the fuckin' moon! Took long enough!"

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

He glances over his shoulder—"'Bye!"—and hangs up.

Chuck flings open the door. " **Wha** –oh. You."

::That's what I get?::

"Where's your pencil?"

Pietr scowls, his movements all sharp angles and jerks. ::Learn to talk with me.::

"I'll learn, mate. But right now I don't understand."

Pietr winces and drops his eyes. He pulls out his pad. -Sorry. Get frustrated-

"I can't imagine what it's like. Not bein' able to talk."

-I talk fine-

"But no one understands."

Pietr nods.

"Umm … how long you been like … this?" Chuck waves a hand vaguely.

-Handsome?-

Chuck rolls his eyes.

-Deaf-

"Yeah."

-Always-

"Haven't heard anything?"

Pietr shakes his head.

"What's it like?"

-Quiet-

"You're fuckin' with me now."

-Stupid question- Pietr grins. -Breakfast?-

"Sure. Lemme grab Max."

A few moments later, the ball of wrinkles barks and waddles out the door.

Pietr scoops him up before he can topple down the steps.

Max whuffles happily.

‘Lead the way,’ Pietr smiles.

As they stroll down an empty corridor, Chuck quietly asks, "How'd I get back last night?"

Pietr shrugs 'Can't help you, sorry.'

"Oh, give 'im here." Chuck lifts Max away and sets him on the floor.

Pietr shrugs again.

"I asked you a question."

::You weren't looking at me.:: He gently turns Chuck's head to face him and nods 'Now try.'

"Sorry. How'd I get back last night?"

Pietr grins, then mimes carrying a baby in his arms.

"Yer fuckin' kidding!" Pietr grins and shakes his head. " **Please** tell me nobody saw."

Pietr nods and draws a cross over his heart.

"Well, don't **ever** do that again."

::Never in front of an audience, I swear.::

"That better've been an agreement."

::Of course it was.::

Chuck scowls. "Right. When can you start teachin' me?"

::Right now.::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5 January 2019


	8. New Job

::Hello?:: Griet reaches up to tie the a sky blue ribbon into her hair.

::Hello, sweetie! I've news.::

Her eyes light up. ::You're transferring closer to home?::

Pietr runs his hands through his hair. ::We talked about this. Wish I could, but Sydney is as close as I can get.::

Griet sighs. ::I can dream, though.::

::I miss you so much.::

::I miss you, too … but you have to stick out your enlistment. I know. What's the news?::

::I have a new job.::

::What’s that?::

::Jaeger pilot. If things work out like the Marshal wants.::

::A pilot? Of a giant monster-fighting machine?::

::Yeah.::

::Isn't that dangerous?::

Pietr shrugs. ::They get banged around, but it's not too different from what I’ve been doing. And they wear armor and don’t get hit every day.::

::Can I worry about you more now?::

Pietr smiles. ::I hope you don't. You already worry too much. Maybe you’ll feel better if you meet my co-pilot.::

::That’s right. They work in pairs. Who’s yours? He a Sydney local?::

Pietr nods. ::Hometown boy. He’s the little brother I don’t have.::

::Oh, no. Not another you.:: Griet rolls her eyes.

::You’d love two of me.::

::Only if one of you could come home.::


	9. Pons Made of Garbage

The taxi peels away from the Shatterdome, leaving them in a cloud of dust.

"Told you," Sergio coughs, "we should've taken a military plane."

"After-," Caitlin sneezes and hefts her carry on. "I'm not risking my Hypothetical's brain with a replacement Pons made of garbage."

The assistant sneezes too, and hands a tissue to Doctor Lightcap.

"I know, darling - not you, Monkey - but that," Sergio waves his hand, "pretty hair-raising."

"Agreeing," says the assistant.

"Really?" says Caitlin. "Seemed a little slow. We've got a brain to find!"

Sergio sighs. "He's not going to... combust. Hypothetically."

"Spontaneous?" suggests the assistant.

"Yea, spontaneous become, uh..."

"Not hypothetical? No, wait, we want that..."

"She's gone, Monkey. I'm getting... that thing."

"Sleep?"

"Yea. Sleep. Maybe let someone know... stuff. Important... things."

"That we're here?"

"Yea, let Caitlin know we're here."

"Get Caitlin someone thing, let important stuff here. Got it."

"Go forth and Science. Team Science."

They bump fists.

"Drift."

They trail after Caitlin into the Shatterdome.

"We're doing that... awkward thing," says the assistant. "When we, uh, football players. 'Hut'. But we don't actually."

"That is... that word. Awkward."

"Hopefully brains will go better."

Brains _do_ go better.

Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7 Jan 2019


	10. Testing

Caitlin Lightcap and her assistant hear a scuffle outside their temporary lab in the Sydney Shatterdome's Jaeger simulator control room. They turn in time to see a tall blonde man shove a grumbling Chuck Hansen back into the hall.

The man straightens and waves sheepishly after closing the door.

A muffled shout follows him.

The assistant snorts. "He hasn't changed," she mumbles.

"Ranger Vos?"

Pietr nods and offers his hand.

Caitlin takes it. "I'm Doctor Caitlin Lightcap and this is Chuck Darling, my assistant."

Pietr goggles and smothers a sound which might be a laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. There's another 'Chuck' in your life now. And if you make a crack about the last name, we'll have problems."

Pietr holds up his hands in surrender, still grinning.

"We'll be running a battery of tests on you, Ranger, so we can get you your new ID number. Nothing too hard, but it will take most of the morning to get through them all."

Pietr nods again.

Caitlin turns away. "Take a seat in the big chair and Chuck'll get you hooked up."

Pietr looks to Chuck. ::Did she say something to me?::

Chuck blinks. "Uh … Doctor Lightcap?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we  **might've** missed something Ranger Vos' file."

Caitlin turns around.

::You missed I'm deaf.::

"I think he's deaf, Doctor."

Pietr rolls his eyes and nods.

"Oh." Caitlin narrows her gaze at Pietr. "Chuck, can you sign?"

"Not a word."

Pietr sighs and pulls a small notepad and pen from his pocket.

"Aha. Regular Boy Scout, ay?"

Pietr shrugs.

"Well, park yourself in the chair and we'll set up for the first test."

Pietr settles into place. -Coffee?-

" **No!** Caffeine will mess up the scans."

-Headache might too-

"Not badly enough to matter."

Pietr huffs. -Wake me-

"Sorry, Ranger. No sleeping, either."

Pietr sighs.

 

* * *

Pietr finishes the questionnaire with a twirl of his pencil and hands the paper to Chuck with a flourish. -Coffee now?-

"Yeah, grab me some while you're out."

Pietr salutes and nearly sprints from the room.

"And I thought Choi was bad … "

After a thump, Chuck opens the door to reveal a grinning Pietr brandishing a mess hall tray supporting a full pot of coffee, a selection of mugs, a container of cream, a box of sugar cubes, and some spoons.

"You  **are** a Boy Scout."

Pietr shakes his head and pushes past to set the tray on an empty desk. He immediately fills a mug to the brim, gulps a mouthful, and folds himself into the chair with a happy hum.

Chuck squeaks around him and readies a cup for herself and another for Caitlin. "You brought too many mugs." She pulls up her own chair.

Pietr shakes his head and smirks. "What's that look—"

The door slams open.

"You 'bout done with him?"

"Chuck."

"Chuck? What're **you** doin' here?"

"I work for Doctor Lightcap now."

"Huh. Didn't see that coming."

"What's **that** supposed to mean, Ducky?"

"I told you  **not** to call me that."

Pietr looks from one to the other and raps his knuckles on the desk. -Know each other?-

"I suppose you **could** say that."

Chuck gets the funniest look on his face.

"Kinda get to know a person when he's everywhere you go, like, oh, I don't know, the mess, the gym, the hangar, your bunk …"

Chuck turns progressively pinker.

"Almost as if he were following you, ay,  **Ducky**?"

Chuck finds the floor **extremely** interesting.

"He didn't follow you to the bathroom, did he?"

Pietr laughs so hard he topples over.

Chuck bites her lip and glares really hard.

-Im sorrry-

"You won't find it so funny when he shows up in your shower."

-No he didn't- Pietr laughs into his elbow. -Storms to Gym, fight to draw, 'You. Me. Kwoon. Now.'-

"The little fucker," breathes Chuck. "He stole my line." She leaps to her feet. " **Chuck!** Lil'drongo, you fucking stole my line!"

"Stole?" snarls Chuck. "How is it  **your** line? It's a buncha words!"

"I'd been practising—" Chuck freezes, ears going pink.

"You'd been  **practising**?"

"Of course I was  **practising** ," Chuck sneers. "It's not every day you're being stalked by a potential Drift partner." She sniffs and strides by. "Now I have data to analyze. Good day." She stops at the door and glares over her shoulder. "And I swear to god, if you follow me, I will—"

"You'll what? Drop me off the roof? Bit big for that now, aren't I?"

Chuck goes very red and slams the door.

Caitlin walks up behind Chuck, engrossed in her tablet. "Chuck, I need those new quantum cables we brought, do you remember where I put—"

"No clue where those are, sorry."

"Don't be silly, you're the one who packed what on Earth happened to your voice?" She looks up.

Chuck waves.

"Oh."

"She left."

"But I need her for this!"

Chuck points at the door.

"Chuck! Get back here!" She returns moments later, dragging Chuck by the sleeve. "Now that we've finished our little trip down memory lane, we can go over the results of your test, Ranger—"

-Pietr-

"Okay, Pietr. Let's start with the simplest one. The numbers after the period are your CORO, which is the way your brain is structured to process information. They're ranged on a spectrum from one to ninety-nine. Yours is just about in the middle: forty-four. We use these to estimate how likely it is a pair are Drift Compatible. Usually pairs with COROs within twenty points of each other are at least somewhat Compatible—unless you're a Kaidanovsky and then all bets are off. You and Chuck are a little outside that—he's a sixty-six—but you're stable together so it doesn't matter. This zero marks a physical or mental condition that has to be taken into account when Drifting. Again, it doesn't matter much in your case."

Pietr nods 'of course not.'

"The letter's pretty easy, too. It's a KTSTR; measures the probability of breaking down in the Drift or chasing a RABIT, with ‘Z' being the most likely. You're among the most stable, an ‘A,' and one of only a handful in the entire Corps."

-Good?-

"Very good."

"And now for the interesting bit … "

"Chuck."

"Sorry, Doctor."

"Okay, this first number is your HSP. These can range between one hundred and nine-hundred-ninety-nine. The higher the number the more flexible you are in terms of the different types of minds you can successfully Drift with. You're a nine-ninety-one."

-High-

"The highest we've ever seen."

"We didn't think we'd  **ever** see one that high. We didn't think it was  **possible** to score that high."

Pietr blinks. -Wow-

Caitlin and Chuck nod. "We've seen a couple of nine-eighties and a few nine-seventies, but nothing like you."

"Now for the  **best** part … "

" **Chuck.** "

"Sorry, Doctor."

"All this means it's not just Chuck you're Compatible with; we could connect almost  **anyone** to you with a neural bridge and you'd create a stable handshake. Not only that, but you'd be able to maintain it no matter what their subconscious threw at you. You're unshakeable. You're... a key that can fit any mental lock."

"No fuckin' way. He's Compatible with anyone?"

"Looks like it. If the models he just broke still apply. We'll have to test him against some other partners to make sure." Caitlin looks at her assistant.

Chuck holds up her hands. "Uh uh. No way. You're not hooking me up to a Pons. Never again."

Pietr quirks an eyebrow. -?-

" **He** happened." She points to Chuck.

Chuck flinches.

"We looked Compatible, COROs should've worked together, but, nope. He tossed me out of alignment, not unlike a boulder in a pond."

"Didn't do it on purpose!"

"Did my best to hang on and fried my hand for my troubles."

"I **did not** do it on purpose!"

"So, yeah, no more Drifting for me."

"It's not entirely out of the cards," Caitlin says.

"Neural scarring. Bad. Do you really want to risk your Hypothetical?"

"Well, you might end up drooling, but it's a  **really** small chance,  **vanishingly** small,  **so small** it almost doesn't exist—"

"Like the chance I'm going to say ‘yes' to this?"

Pietr nods vehemently.

"I will convince you, mark my words."

 

* * *

After lunch, Caitlin looks up from her notes. "Where would Chuck be about now?"

-Rec-

"Chuck, go get him."

Pietr snorts.

Chuck glares.

Caitlin and Pietr play a game of rummy. Then another.

"What's taking so long?"

-I'll check-

A tangle of limbs flails in the center of the Rec Room, surrounded by a thick ring of cheering marines.

Pietr's lips thin and he pushes through the crowd.

He grabs Chuck by the collar and tosses him to the marines, miming 'hold him.'

Chuck squalls and fights the three men restraining him.

Logan Jones goes next; Pietr catching his arm and spinning him to the opposite side of the circle.

The other two are straightforward; Pietr shoves himself in between—Chuck slashes at Jackson **over** him—and pushes them out of striking range.

Pietr glares at Chuck. ::Explain. Now.::

Chuck sulks, grinding his teeth.

Pietr rolls his eyes. ::Somebody explain, please.::

Chuck wipes blood from her upper lip. "He started it." She jerks her thumb at Chuck.

He makes a strangled noise.

Pietr sighs.

The unbloodied Chuck glares at him defiantly.

Pietr frowns, crosses his arms over his chest, and taps his foot.

Chuck keeps glaring.

Pietr throws up his hands. He grabs both Chucks by their upper arms and drags them from the room to a chorus of catcalls and foot-stomping by the marines.

After the short and embarrassing march back to the simulator room, Pietr throws them in and kicks the door closed.

"Chuck, what happened?"

Both Chucks begin speaking.

Caitlin holds up a hand for silence. "My Chuck, what happened?"

"That little menace—"

"Who're you callin'—"

Chuck gets a hand clapped across his mouth and squirms with fury as Pietr gives Caitlin a thumbs up.

"—picked a fight with the Jones brothers and I got dragged in to save his ass."

Chuck wrenches himself out of Pietr's grip. "I was doin' just **fine** before you stuck yerself in!"

"They were **sitting** on you!"

"I was gettin' ready for my next move!"

"Which would've been gettin' your teeth knocked in!"

"Shut **up**!"

" **Make** me!"

"Both of you! Be **quiet**! Little Chuck—"

" **Oi!** "

"Young Chuck—"

" **Oi!** "

Caitlin rolls her eyes. "Just get in the sim. I've got all the data I can from Pietr solo."

"You're not getting me anywhere near his head!"

"Not you, Chuck. You."

Chuck shifts smugly.

Chuck blinks in relief and starts adjusting the simulator's settings.

Four twenty-minute Drifts later, Caitlin pipes over the intercom, "Okay, boys! Time to add a Kaiju and see what you do. I've turned the force-feedback down so no matter what happens—even if you 'die'—it won't hurt. You've got no special weapons and Mark I speed, so just punch it 'til it dies. Got it?"

Chuck flashes a thumbs up.

Pietr blinks.

 

 

 

>  (Pilot to Jaeger connection complete.)

"Where the hell are we?" Chuck scans the simulated environment. "Is … is this fuckin' **London**?"

"Just hit the Kaiju, Ducky."

" **Don't** call me that!"

 

 

 

> (Neural handshake terminated.)

"Nice work, gents. Still getting good data, so we're gonna wash, rinse, repeat. Different Kaiju, Mark I speed, no special weapons."

 

 

 

> (Pilot to Jaeger connection complete.)

"Jaeger Academy?"

"Just hit it, Ducky."

" **Stop** calling me that!"

Pietr tugs Chuck's attention to their left and the rapidly approaching Kaiju.

 

 

 

> (Neural handshake terminated.)

"Ready?"

 

 

 

> (Pilot to Jaeger connection complete.)

"What the hell is this?"

"Don't know your geography, Ducky?"

" **Shut. It.** "

 

 

 

> (Neural handshake terminated.)

"Next!"

 

 

 

> (Pilot to Jaeger connection complete.)

"Any complaints this time, Ducky?"

Chuck mumbles something unintelligible.

 

 

 

> (Neural handshake terminated.)

"Can't you give us somethin'  **tougher**? These all went down easy."

"I'll give you 'somethin' tougher,' you little … "

"Ready for round five?"

Pietr makes a 'timeout' gesture.

Chuck catches the motion with the corner of his eye. ::Need a break?::

Pietr nods slowly, then freezes.

The Chucks and Caitlin unhook him and he sags onto a bench.

::What's wrong?::

::Feel sick.::

::You gonna puke?::

::Maybe.::

::Why? I'm fine.::

::Dizzy from the start of Drifting.::

::That doesn't happen if you brace for it.::

::How?::

::What do you mean? There's a countdown.::

Pietr blinks in confusion. ::What countdown?::

Chuck facepalms. ::It's an **audio** count:: He pivots on the bench. "Doctor Lightcap!"

"What?"

"We've gotta problem. Pietr can't hear the handshake countdown."

"Oh. Oh crap. He hasn't had any warning it's starting?"

"No, and now he's dizzy and thinkin' of throwin' up."

"Crap! New assignment, Chuck! Rig up a visual interface for him. You have 'til tomorrow morning. I'll try to salvage something from this data."

"Lemme get out of my Drivesuit and I'll—"

"Not you, the other Chuck."

"Let him do it. I could use some sleep."

"Nice try. Get to work. Chuck, make sure Pietr gets back to his quarters in one piece. I've got more tests to run on him tomorrow."

Chuck's stomach lurches and he watches Pietr slump against the wall behind him, eyes closed. Chuck raps gently on his pauldron.

Pietr cracks an eye.

::Wanna undress?::

::Yeah.::

::You haveta be sick not to joke.::

Pietr huffs and starts tugging at his gloves.

Progress is slow, but the Chuck and Pietr eventually make it back to Pietr's quarters.

"How're ya feelin'?"

::Awful::

"What does it feel like? Without a countdown?"

::Drop tower ride.::

Chuck winces. "Over and over?"

::Yeah.::

"And then you fought?"

::Yeah.::

"Jesus. Can I bring ya anything?"

::Water.::

Chuck hops up and returns with a filled tumbler.

::Thanks.::

"Welcome. Anything else?"

::No.::

"Umm … can I hang out here again?"

Pietr shrugs as he drains his water. He slowly lowers himself to the mattress, closes his eyes, and curls up on his side.

"You are one tough bastard," Chuck mumbles. He taps his fingers on the tabletop for a moment, then reaches for Pietr's stack of family photos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7 January 2019
> 
> The explanation of the PPDC ID numbers comes from the beautiful Confabulatrix on Tumblr. For the record, Pietr's is R-PVOS_991.440-A.


	11. Intangibles

"Marshal? I've got Ranger Vos' classification report."

"And you're hand-delivering it? Must be exciting, Doctor."

Lightcap grins and takes the seat Nguyen indicates. "You've made the discovery of the year."

"Lovely. What did I do?"

"You found Pietr Vos." She passes him a memo.

He reads it. "My Drift Science is a little rusty, but these numbers seem rather high."

"They're the highest we've ever found. The Ranger is closer to universally Drift Compatible than we thought possible."

"Universally Compatible? Well, that certainly explains what happened with Hansen."

"That's only the beginning. Vos is a walking revolution in Drift Science and we never would've found him if it weren't for you."

"Good thing I was getting desperate for a pilot, then." He smiles. "And, no, you can't have him. I still need a pilot and he still needs a lot of training."

"Can I borrow him during his downtime?"

"He's not going to have **any** downtime. You know what it's like to build a uniquely specialized Jaeger, Doctor."

"Dear god, not that third arm, not on _Striker_."

"Only the feet, I promise." Nguyen sighs. "Her AI and control systems will need a lot of work to compensate for Vos' disability."

Lightcap brightens. "We're already working on a speech-to-text HUD for LOCCENT audio. That should shave off some development time."

"Doctor … I appreciate your research interest in my Ranger, but I have a rather large section of Pacific coast to protect and I need that man and his Jaeger in fighting shape as quickly as possible."

"I should be clearer, then." Lightcap leans forward. "If I can figure out what it is about Vos' brain that lets him score this high, we might be able to make  **anyone** Compatible."

Nguyen pauses thoughtfully. "You're talking about artificially inducing Drift Compatibility."

"That's one possible application of the research."

"So if I give you Vos now, you might— **might** —be able to give me any pair of candidates I want in the future."

"That's a possibility, yes."

Nguyen sighs. "I need you to appreciate my position, Doctor. I have the largest patrol area of any Shatterdome, the first—and, if there is any sanity in this world, not the last—Mark V Jaeger under construction and in need of pilots, and ten months to make a perfect fighting machine from a man who'd never even **Drifted** before three days ago with a disability which nearly ended his PPDC career and the most brilliant  **and** most difficult cadet we've ever seen, who just **happens** to be the fifteen-year-old son of my best Ranger."

"But the possibilities … "

"Doctor, I sympathize, but I have to prioritize combat readiness over research. If you can find me someone else capable of a stable handshake with Hansen, I'll reconsider."

Lightcap considers a response.

"I'll even settle for a matched pair of equal capability."

Lightcap opens her mouth to reply.

Nguyen holds up a hand. "Look, I'm already losing Vos for two weeks next month. I can't spare him. At least not until  _Striker_ is online."

"You're giving him leave? Cancel it and send him to Anchorage!"

Nguyen shakes his head, "I can't do that, Doctor. The man hasn't seen his wife in over a year. I have responsibilities, but I'm not a monster."

"A  **year**?"

"A year." Nguyen nods. "He was already a valuable commodity among the Marshals even before your discovery. Well-behaved Fightmasters are hard to keep. I'm lucky to have gotten him at all."

"We almost lost him."

" **Missed** , Doctor, not lost. If he's what your numbers say he is, **someone** would've found him eventually."

"But you're the one who did."

Nguyen shrugs. "If you want to thank someone, thank Logan Jones. He's the one who put the idea of testing with Vos in Hansen's head."

"Logan Jones."

"Yes."

"The same Logan Jones who's made himself into Hansen's nemesis."

"The same."

"I think I'll stick with thanking you."

"Probably wise. Wouldn't do to stroke Logan's ego too much. He might become insufferable."

Lightcap snorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7 Jan 2019


	12. Grooming

They spot Another Chuck at the same time—Chuck and Pietr—or rather, they spot the arch of her braid as she jumps from a cook's way.

Pietr tilts his head.

Chuck hunches around his coffee. "Yea, fine, whatever."

Pietr pats his head—"Hey!"—and stands.

"Get me some too while yer at it."

Thumbs up.

Pietr ends up butting in line a person back. He taps the shoulder.

"What's up?"

Pietr nods at Another Chuck.

"Oh yea, sure. Hey, Chuck."

"Hm? Oh, morning, Pietr."

She kinda looks terrible.

"Uh, go ahead, Rama."

"Thanks." Smiles goodbye—Pietr bobs his head—and sneaks by.

"Hey."

Pietr smiles and nods across the room.

"You got a table already? That's great, thanks. You wanna ... ?" She half-shrugs in its general direction. "Can I get you anything?"

Pietr holds up his cup and shakes his head.

"Cool. See you over there?"

Agreement.

"Cheers."

 

Pietr passes by the line a couple minutes later, sipping from one mug and carrying a second.

Another Chuck projects 'A little much?'

Pietr selects the other cup and makes a face.

'Aha. Enjoy—or not—whatever. Bye!'

 

"Chuckold."

"Ducky." She drops her tray beside Chuck and sits, draping her braid around her neck as she does.

"You smell weird."

"Yea, haven't had a chance to shower yet."

"That's disgusting," says Chuck.

"Says the guy who washes his hair once a week."

"So do you!"

"It's every **two** weeks, and it takes, like, three hours and a quarter bottle of shampoo, and since I've been doing that for as long as I've **had** hair, it stays nice."

::Thought he followed you to the bathroom.::

Chuck goes funny. "You told him that?!" he hisses.

"The bathroom thing? Any opportunity to make you squirm, Ducky." To Pietr, she adds, "Clearly he forgot."

"I didn't even know about your stupid preening thing."

" **Grooming** , Ducky, get it right," and continues, "He totally forgot."

"I never **knew**. Pro'ly figured out what you were doing and high-tailed it outta there 'fore I got bored to death."

Pietr flicks his eyes to Another Chuck's braid.

"Oh, less to catch on. Don't know pain until the appendix ruptures and it's actually cramps or a zipper tries eloping with your hair."

"See, never have that problem 'cause mine is **short**."

This could get ugly.

"And thank god you do or that'd be **gr-oss**."

"Thank god **you're** not a Ranger or snip snip! Good thing, yea?"

"Yes, Ducky, **good** thing. Thank you **so** much for throwing me out of the Drift and ruining my career. I don't know how I'll ever make it up to you."

More like hideous. Short of banging the table, they aren't changing the subject.

"You **gave up**. After **one** try. You **chose** to leave."

"I did **not** give up. I would've Drifted a **thousand** times if it meant jockeying. **You** made that choice for me when you tore my brain apart!"

Pietr takes a sip of coffee, just like that, totally calm, completely at ease with the Death brushing his arm. He'd greet it if it weren't a metaphor for the world sliding around and the dread chilling his heart (and bones, brain, everything).

"What the—how could I—How the **fuck** could you even **think** that?"

"You wrecked the Drift, I tried to salvage it, you wrecked me too." Chuck glances at her food. "Ye know what, whatever." She stands. "Doctor Lightcap wants you ready in half an hour." She snatches up her tray. "Pietr."

He smiles and waves.

She leaves.

 

After breakfast, they file into the lab.

Caitlin looks up from her notes. "Where would Chuck be about now?"

"No idea."

"Thought you knew her routine by heart."

"Does **everybody** know that?"

"So it's true! That is **undeniably** adorable. Go get her, please." As an aside, "Can never tell when to trust drug ramblings."

"I knew the old Chuckold, not this drama queen."

"Isn't she, though? Dramatic transformation—rewired sixty percent of her brain in nine months and the only tell is her right hand. Getting in a Jaeger would still kill her—maybe not _Typhoon_ —don't tell her I said that—but wouldn't if be great if bipolar—"

"Cat."

"What?"

"Twenty-one hours."

"Shit. Why aren't we—where would Chuck be?"

-Rec?-

"Chuck, go get him."

"Oi!"

"Twenty-one hours, Monkey—what happened to your voice?"

Pietr snorts.

Chuck glowers.

"Oh. Chuck, go get her."

"Why do I have to?"

-I'll go-


	13. Plushie

"Hey, Rapunzel! Haven't had a chance to welcome you back to Sydney."

Chuck weaves some purple around her fingers, the braid in question draped loosely around her neck and out of yarn's way.

"Aww … feelin' down 'cause your wittle drop bear left you for another man?"

Chuck adds in some yellow.

"We got you a little somethin' to keep you company through those cold, lonely Alaskan nights."

Chuck raises an eyebrow.

Jackson Jones waggles a plush bear with oversized fangs and ridiculously fluffy ears.

Chuck smothers a smile, grabs the plushie—it's  _just_ the right size tucked under her arm—and returns to her exercises.

"Cute, ain't it? Y'think it's cute, don't ya?"

Chuck rolls her eyes.

"Hey." Jackson elbows his brother. "Rapunzel from last spring'd never think a teddy bear's cute."

"I betcha hanging out with the nerds's has made her soft. Whad'ya think?"

Chuck's first punch connects with Logan's chin and sends him reeling into his brother.

A moment later, Pietr strolls into the Rec and notes with approval the way Chuck twists Jackson's arm painfully behind his back while using him as a shield against Logan. He rolls his eyes, sweeps the Joneses' legs from under them, grabs Chuck by the arm, and tows her from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8 January 2019


	14. Interface

Chuck picks up the helmet and turns it over. "Looks like one of _Lucky_ 's. You  **steal** it?"

Chuck sniffs and yanks it out of his hands. "Of course not. I requisitioned it."

::With your fingers.::

"You're as bad as him!"

::You've got no idea what I said!::

"I know you agreed with him! You've got the worst poker face I've ever seen!"

Pietr signals surrender, laughing. -Guilty- He sobers. -Thank you-

"You're welcome." Chuck takes a deep breath. "It's kinda kludgy right now, but if it works, I'll clean it up. This little computer runs a speech-to-text program on the LOCCENT audio feed—or from the control room, wherever—sends the output to  **this** LCD projector, which, in a perfect world, creates a HUD you can read off the inside of the visor."

Pietr flashes a smile.

"Time for testing!" Caitlin singsongs.

Pietr and the Chucks sigh.

 

* * *

=THIRTY=  
=TWENTY=  
=TEN=

Pietr holds his breath and closes his eyes.

=NEURAL HANDSHAKE INITIATING=

He blinks away merged memories and glances at the upper right corner of his visor.

=PETER IZIT WORKING=

Pietr gives a thumbs up to the control room and grins.

=HOWS YOUR TUMMY=

Another thumbs up.

=AWESOME HOPEFULLY YOU WONT  
GET SICK THIS TIME=

Pietr nods enthusiastically.

=YEAH THIS IS OUR LAST DAY SO  
WE NEED TO MAKE THE MOST OF IT  
GET GOING GUYS BASIC COMBAT F  
ORMS=

Chuck and Pietr roll their eyes in sync.

 

* * *

"Well, yesterday's testing wasn't  **total** junk," Caitlin announces, pulling over a chair. "Nice demonstration, guys; got some great data on nausea and piloting performance. By the last drop, your efficiency fell almost eleven percent compared to today."

Chuck nudges Pietr with his coffee mug. "Flu shots for us."

Pietr nods.

"We don't want you two dying because you're queasy, ay?" Chuck hands Caitlin her mug.

"We don't want you dying at  **all**. Chuck, how're we doing for time?"

Pietr glances at Chuck and raises an eyebrow. ::Not before she's done with us, at least.::

"Eighteen hours."

Chuck bursts out laughing.

Caitlin zeroes-in. "Are you two Ghosting? Do you understand sign while the hangover's in effect, but not otherwise?"

::Yea, I do. Wears off after a while.::

::Lasting longer each time, too.::

::Can remember some of it, though.::

"Guys."

::Makes teaching him easier. Pretty slow otherwise.::

::Hey, asshole! Learning a language is rough!::

::I know four. And I'm not the genius you are, kid.::

::I'm not a kid!::

Pietr snorts. ::You're not even legal.::

::What does that have to do with anything?!::

" **Guys!** "

Chuck stills.

::Means you're a kid.::

Caitlin grabs Pietr's hands.

He hisses-glares-yanks free.

" **Thank you.** Pietr, it's time to see what you can do with a different partner. Oh Chuck~!"

"Yea?"

"Prep the equipment, please."

"Who's next?"

Caitlin smiles expectantly.

Chuck turns around at the silence.

Pietr glances between them.

Chuck studies his coffee.

"Not a chance."

"Exactly. You'll be fine—"

"I'm not Drifting."

"Look, Chuck—"

"No."

"You know the odds with close COROs—"

"No no no  **no!** "

"—two are  **four** points—"

"I don't care—"

"You're practically Drift  **soulmates!** "

Chuck goes funny-colored.

"And with Pietr's HSP and KTSTR there's no  **way** he's pushing you out of alignment."

Pietr raises a polite hand. -bigger gap = better test?-

Caitlin chews her lip. "You have a point." She taps a fingernail against the console. "Yeah.  **Yeah.** Let's try that first. Chuck, set it up for Sergio."

On cue, Sergio shuffles through the door and glances about muzzily. "Why I am I here and why do I have chocolate cake?"

"You're going to Drift with Pietr." Caitlin's smile widens. "The cake's for Chuck."

"Brilliant."

"Not  **you.** "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8 January 2019


	15. Double Date

Caitlin tweaks the last settings on the Pons. "Fifteen points difference in your COROs,  **well** within the normal safe range. And you're both high HSP people, so there shouldn't be any problems. Everything cool?"

Pietr nods.

Sergio yawns.

"Chuck?"

Two voices. "Yea?"

" **Hansen.** Can you count down from ten for Pietr?"

"Yea."

"When'd ya learn that, Ducky?"

" **Don't** call me that," Chuck growls. "This mornin'. In case you **gave up** before you finished the job."

Chuck squeezes her drop bear and a stubby pencil bounces off her shoulder.

She spins, glaring at the missile's origin.

Pietr smiles and waves.

Chuck slams down the plushie.

Caitlin clears her throat. "Lab Monkey, be a Lab Monkey."

"You're standin' in front of the monitor."

"Whoops." Caitlin steps aside. "Pull the plug if the alignment goes squirrelly. Which it  **won't**. Other Chuck, gets your ducks down. No, wait, that's not right."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Get your ducks in a row?" Chuck suggests.

Caitlin frowns. "What was I trying to say?"

"Count your ducks before they hatch?"

"That's not it either. Whatever. Just do that counting thing. On my mark, then."

::Ten.::

::Five.::

::One.::

Chuck in tears, fingers caught in her braid, screaming at Caitlin.

Dafne in tears, clutching her sides as Griet tries untangling your hands from her hair (and fails).

Kaidanovskaya and you side-by-side; Caitlin's perfect right braid, the disaster on the left.

Griet sits down in class with school-yellow ribbons in her hair.

~and the science gets done and we built a neat gun~

Striker's yours before without a co-pilot still ours now.

Caitlin giggling as you try eating a timbit without lifting your arms (because you can't).

Red eye to Panama City Nagasaki crystal blue sky home.

Caitlin wants cake.

Three mice with sunglasses and canes tripping around a microphone.

"Ninety-eight percent and holding," Chuck reports.

"Gimme some basic combat forms. Let's see how synched up you are."

Sergio and Pietr do, occasionally yawning simultaneously.

"I'd send ‘em out in a Jaeger together. Whatta you say, Chucks?"

"They seem to check all the boxes, ay?"

Chuck scowls and shrugs.

A Category One falls in short order.

"Right, then." Caitlin keys in a few commands. "That's all we have time to get from the two of you today. Disconnect ‘em."

The two men remove their squid caps and slouch into nearby chairs.

Caitlin points to her assistant. "You're up, Chuck."

Chuck snickers.

"Shut it, Ducky. And it's still 'no.' I'm  **not** Drifting. Not even if he's—" she waves at Pietr "—supposedly my 'Drift soulmate,' whatever  **that's** supposed to mean."

"There's chocolate cake in it for you."

" **No.** N. O."

"Your brain's mine for another year."

"Lemme talk to Monkey a minute," Sergio says, pushing himself out of his seat. "C’mon.”

Chuck lets him tow her from the room.

Puts an arm around her shoulders.

They sag.

Drops his arm to his side.

"I don't know what's goin' on scientifically, but you'll be safe with him."

"That's  **real** comforting."

"But I get it. If I was in your position, I would be saying the exact same thing, and I figured 'maybe an 'all clear' might help'," he pauses. "And because Caitlin's ... "

"The Unstoppable Science Machine?"

"You said it, not me." He takes a breath. "I don't ... I can't ... something about not knowing your experience but grasping the emotions ... to that effect, anyway ... What were we talking about?"

"'m not sayin'  **anything**."

"Drifting. Right. I get it, and I was getting it when Cat pulled the switch so Pietr gets it. He's ... Cat's done this to me before and sometimes ... sometimes I can see, feel, what you—or she—would call a 'pond' but this time ... there's no pond. It's like ... lying down to sleep."

"You really are tired."

Sergio pushes open the door. "I'm resigned to never sleeping again holy Jesus motherfucker it's hot."

"It's twenty-one degrees."

"That's co—Celsius."

"Makes more sense than your crazy American system."

"Doesn't change the fact it's way too hot out."

"It's summer."

"Crazy backwards seasons."

"Sane frontwards seasons."

Sergio ushers her back inside.

"You Aussies and your upside down things."

"They're totally right side up."

The door bangs shut.

"I was saying something important."

"And you  **still** think I'll tell ye."

"About Pietr. And the Drift. It's like lying down to sleep."

"On what, exactly?"

"Uh, what?"

"Your metaphor. 'It’s like lying down to sleep.' On  **what**? Mattress, floor …?"

"There're no springs, if that's what you're asking. It's ... fluffy."

"That clarifies things not at all."

Sergio makes a face which says 'I am annoyed with my own shortcomings at being clear.' "I know it doesn't sound like much, but I just  **know** it'll be okay. It's safe. It's comfortable. It's  **home**. Trust me."

"Ye know what, fine, I'm already broken; let's see if we can finish the job." She yanks her jacket more tightly closed and storms away, only to find Pietr rocking on his toes outside the lab door.

"Ye heard that, din't ye."

He cringes and nods.

"Whatever." She brushes by but he taps her shoulder.

She stops. Turns on her heel. " **What.** "

His hands flutter anxiously.

"Ye might as well be tossing leaves 'round for all the sense that makes t'me."

He huffs. Hugs her.

Chuck clenches her teeth.

Pietr holds her gently, cradles her head; lets her go after a moment, presses his forehead against hers.

She watches his arm.

He watches her eyes. Presses a quick kiss to her forehead.

She shoves Pietr away, scowls, scrubs at her hairline, flings open the lab door. "Let's get this over with already." Mumbles, "… coffee t'wash th' stupid fairy floss outta my mouth."

Caitlin rolls her eyes. "You'll be perfectly fine, Chuck."

"'Drift soulmates,' I know, I know." She jams on the squid cap.

Pietr gives her a quick smile and straps himself in.

"You two ready?"

Chuck shrugs.

Pietr nods.

::Ten.::

::Five.::

::One.::

Too dark too hot too loud you can barely breathe Wirriri's card group chatting holding you, her hand against your head tucked against her neck don't watch can't  **not** watch fairies bright leap want to drag you into the black

Too dark too hot lonely you can barely breathe dig your way from the fort into moonlight pouring through the window and cool

Drafts everywhere too cold hell's usually frozen over have your desk behind the servers you can pretend the lab's empty when busybody Rangers

Have excellent technique as a rule and correcting  _Nova Hyperion_ 's dropped shoulder led to a Kaiju kill

Tang Min dashed her to pieces and a nurse has you keep up the pressure but no matter how hard you press her blood's pumping out between your fingers soaking your shirt so much dripping through your

Underpants on your head making faces Dad's laughing while the medic sews his foot cuts off his

Shoes and lab gear every morning for spiders just to pretend there's something like familiar in this

Ridiculously huge building and you've got work and your map says up

Three stairs in three hours. Caitlin says you should be proud, says at this rate, you'll be up four by next week. You want to

Burst apart from the happiness when Griet starts using words you don't know (yet)

"Ninety-nine percent and holding." Caitlin smirks. "Told you so."

Pietr turns to Chuck and grins.

She grins back, eyes wide and shining. "How in hell did y'do that?"

Pietr shrugs.

"You're fuckin' amazin'."

Pietr blushes and studies his boots.

"Time's a-wasting! Make with the combat forms!"

Chuck and Pietr nod to each other and, perfectly synched, raise their arms.

"She hasn't moved this well since the Academy."

"And definitely not when she was Drifting with the triplets."

"Plural? They switched?"

"Unless Cadet 'Wei Cheung' had three distinct neural architectures, you're telling me they didn't?" Caitlin drops her head back. "I really wanna put them in a Conn-pod."

Chuck's teeth grind audibly.

"Calm down, Hansen. She's not gonna steal your co-pilot. Did you miss the part about it killing her?"

"I heard just fine."

"Would you relax if we got you some cake?"

" **No.** "

"Okay, that's enough, you two. Unhook yourselves."

Off come the squid caps.

Connection broken, Pietr leans on a console; Chuck oozes toward the floor.

Scratch that, Pietr tucks himself under her arm and  **then** leans on a console.

Sergio drags over a chair with a piece of cake, pauses, takes the plate off the chair, pauses again, and slides over the chair.

Chuck sags and Pietr lets her slump down.

"Cake," says Sergio, depositing the plate in her lap. "Raise your blood sugar, Monkey."

She goes for the fork.

The fork goes clattering to the ground.

"Burlda daajarrba."

Everyone looks to the red-haired Chuck, who bristles "I don't speak—," except the dark-haired Chuck who's leaning down after her fork and Pietr who's saving the cake from an unfortunate end smeared across her front.

A monitor chimes.

Pietr snags the fork and saves Chuck from toppling over with a well-placed hip-nudge.

"Huh," says Caitlin.

"Hey, Chuck?"

"Yea?" he answers, inching over to Pietr.

"Monkey Chuck."

Stab.

"I'm here ... "

Chew.

"Do you smell—or taste—anything weird? Burnt toast, lilacs?"

Stab.

Pietr nudges her back upright.

"Fairy floss?"

Chew.

"This is so cool! Your brain's gone completely haywire!"

Stab.

"That's nice."

Chew.

Pietr shoos Chuck away.

He scowls.

"In a good way! All the new connections you made during recovery've tied bits to pieces that normally aren't!"

Stab.

"I like fairy floss."

Chew.

'Stop looming!'

"D'you remember when?"

Chuck sulks his way back to his crossword.

Stab.

"Some point." Chuck flops her hand.

Cake plops to the floor.

Chuck looks like she's going to cry.

"This is awesome! Think we have time for an MRI?"

Stab.

Starts listing again.

Accepts a course correction from Pietr.

"One project at a time, Cat. Go unlock Universal Compatibility."

"Time?"

Chew.

"Thirteen hours."

"Plenty of time to put Pietr in an MRI!"

"I don't think we have one here."

Stab.

"Monkey!"

"I like cake."

"Find me a hospital with an available MRI!"

Chew.

Pietr eases the plate away.

Chuck fumbles for a tablet.

Caitlin whirls.

"You're not claustrophobic, are you Pietr?"

He shakes his head.

"Perfect. Go Team Science!"

"Eat." 

"You're supposed to say 'Drift'." 

"Food is a better idea."

"But the MRI ... "

"Monkey, text me when you find one," says Sergio.

"Monkey when I text one."

"Pietr, Ducky Chuck—"

" **Seriously?** "

"You're off the hook 'till then."

Pietr flashes a grin, nudges Chuck back upright.

"But I can run—"

"To the cafeteria. Bye guys. C'mon, Cat."

"Hornsby Ku-ring-gai Hospital, 5 hours from now," Chuck mumbles.

"That was kinda fast," challenges Chuck.

"Internet. Shatterdome. "Sure we'll take your Mark-V Ranger." Easy." She makes grabby hands at cake.

Pietr gives it back.

"I learned th' from Tang Min."

Chew.

"Who?"

-HK 'dome.-

"She taught me, "you say 'Shatterdome', people'll do all sorts of things for you"."

Stab.

"Like send shoes home. Or bash yer skull in."

Chew.

"Oh. Hafta text—"

Pietr offers his phone.

"A phone!"

Chuck grins and takes it except Pietr holds it just out of reach and taps the screen.

'Only the number.' Swaps it for cake.

"Okay." She pokes it in.

The phone becomes cake.

Stab.

Listing again.

Pietr offers a course correction.

Nothing.

He leans away—just a bit—and pokes Chuck; tilts his head toward his other side.

Chuck glances across Pietr.

Dark-haired Chuck's fast asleep against Pietr's thigh.

-Drugged cake?-

Chuck giggles and nods. "Lightcap had some, too."

-Do now?-

Chuck's face falls, realizing they're kinda stuck.

-Pokémon?-

He rolls his eyes, stands up anyway. "Nerd."

-Copilot-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8 January 2019


	16. Bombproof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written around a seed story by Gothams_Only_Wolf.

"Isn't that Chuck's?"

"Sh'won' missit," escapes Sergio around a mouthful of cake. "Sleepin' like a baby."

Caitlin steals a bite with her fingers. "What's it like in there?"

"Oh my God, Cat, it's amazing. No idea how in th'hell he manages it."

"Manages what?"

"The silence. Absolute. Perfect. Silence." He swallows another forkful. "No  **wonder** the poor guy threw up yesterday. Sound's ... alien. 'N hittin' him with no warning, over and over ... from  **Hansen** no less ... " He shakes his head.

Caitlin pushes over to the computer.

"He's ... Just—here." Sergio offers  **all** of the Drift through their link; the incredible saturation of colors-scents-textures, the warm tide of peace-safe-home, the same together-oneness Caitlin and Sergio had managed after a  **year**.

"Ho-holy shit."

"What is he made of?"

Caitlin clicks around and frowns. "I have no idea. My models—." She flicks her hand at the screen. "He's broken  **everything**."

Sergio sets the empty plate aside. "There's something else." He takes Caitlin's hands in his own. "While we were doing forms ... he saw the bomb."

Caitlin sucks air through her teeth.

"He didn't even flinch. All the noise, the ... " He shudders. "Cat, it just rolled off him an-and he gave back—whaddya call it?—a 'pond'? Only there wasn't really a pond just ... safe."

"The Chucks," murmurs Caitlin. "He can't be bounced and he won't let them bounce themselves."

Sergio nods. "He'd be the perfect Drifter if the silence wasn't so unnerving."

"We've gotta figure out how he's able to do this. If we can make all Ranger candidates—" Sergio pales "—well, bombproof, like him ... "

"... we might be able to keep what happened to Monkey from happening again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8 January 2019


	17. History

Chuck drops her tray next to Pietr's and flops down after it. "Evenin' guys."

Chuck glowers. "D'ye have to—OW!"

Pietr nods a greeting.

Chuck grins back, tosses her braid around her neck, "For your information, **Ducky** ," sets upon her potatoes—

"Yer stalkin' a Drift partner?"

Pietr slides a note across the table. -Jealous?- He raises an eyebrow.

Chuck hiccups.

Chuck turns pink. "What're ye, **crazy**? Of **course** not!"

Pietr shrugs 'of course not.' Looks 'you were saying?' at Chuck.

"Boss wants me to—" she yawns "—get some medical history from you."

"He's tired. Leave 'im alone."

Pietr pushes Chuck's head away, smiles apologetically, gives a thumbs up. -Coffee?-

"Cocoa, if they have it. Or tea."

"I'll help."

Pietr stands and waves Chuck back to his seat.

"Ducky."

"Chuckold." He rubs the back of his neck. "Yer not broken, yea?"

" **Broken.** " She waves her right hand. "Ye know why brains are so tricky? They need blood **and** electricity. Take away one or the other 'n whoosh, entire clusters of cells kick it, just like that. Think 'mass extinction,' but in yer head." She starts cutting her beans. "But like every great die-off, there's room to rebuild so long as something's got a heartbeat, so," she shrugs. "Got me a new neural architecture in eighty percent the space of the old one. I'll still never jockey. Unlike **you**."

Chuck studies the fake woodgrain of the table.

"I swear to god, Ducky, you had better be countin' yer lucky stars 'cause Pietr's a bleedin' miracle and you do **not** deserve 'im."

Absolutely fascinating, this here table top. **Absolutely** fascinating.

"'N yet, he's all yers."

Holds the secrets of the universe apparently.

"Four? What's—"

"Ye didn't."

Pietr grins. He sets a cup of cocoa in front of Chuck.

Chuck accepts coffee with milk.

Another mug before Pietr's place.

The final one stays in hand.

The trio sip.

Chuck sighs into her cocoa.

"Oi! This is decaf!"

Pietr smirks over his drink, telegraphs 'go ahead' to Chuck.

"Hm? Oh, file. Right." She taps the tablet awake. "Family history of deafness?"

Pietr shakes his head.

"Not genetic, then?"

Another head shake. -Bad nerves- He traces a line from his throat through his ear to the base of his skull.

"How'd that happen?"

-Premature-

Chuck blinks. "You have t'be pretty tiny for that t'happen, ay?"

-26 weeks-

Her '2' comes out a lot like a 'Z' and the tablet whines.

Chuck peers over. "That's really early, yeah?"

The tablet cooperates. "Says here … only two-thirds of normal."

Chuck sniffs. "Can't expect me to know girl stuff."

"That's human stuff, Ducky. No wonder yer lousy at it."

"Where th'hell ye get that—"

Pietr shoves him again.

"Oi!" Arms flail.

_Thump._

-Kids-

Chuck snorts, then composes herself. "How soon did yer family know?"

-Right away. Never cried-

Chuck scrambles back to his seat, scowling.

"So … no sound ever?"

Pietr shakes his head.

"What's it like?"

-Quiet-

"Smartarse."

-Stupid question-

Pietr grins.

"Answer it a lot, ay?"

Pietr tilts his head toward his co-pilot and nods.

Chuck huffs.

"Umm … Any diagnosed mental illnesses?"

Head shake.

"In your family?

Head shake.

"Aphasia?"

-Afasia?-

"P-H."

'Figured,' says the huff.

"Language production or processing disorder."

-Uncle hit head, only said 'tap' after?-

"Exactly! Maternal or paternal?"

Pietr frowns, then draws out a family tree and circles a branch twice removed from 'Mom'.

"May I …?" Chuck snaps a picture when he leans out of the way.

"Holy shite, yer family's huge!"

Pietr snorts and shakes his head, adds -Tiny part. 100+-

"There's a hundred people in yer family," she repeats.

"Th'hell dyou do with 'em?" Chuck asks in equal disbelief. "I barely know what to do with seven!"

'I dunno,' he shrugs. -Family stuff?-

They kinda look at Chuck. "Jammy 'n Wirriri. She had kids but we don't see 'em. So," She checks the tablet. "Synesthaesia?"

Pietr looks confused. He offers Chuck his notepad and pencil.

She double-taps the term and holds up the tablet.

Head shake.

"Migraines?"

Head shake.

"Ever see auras?"

Pietr raises an eyebrow.

"Glowy halo around people or things?"

Head shake.

"Hallucinations?"

-84 hours w/o sleep-

"Why'd ye do that?"

-Important job- Pietr grimaces. -Never again-

"Yea, I've done that a coupla times. No fun." She taps the tablet. "Only a few more. Fevers of thirty-nine degrees or higher?"

Head shake.

"'Visual disturbances—' ye know what, just read this one."

-Visual Disturbances, Blindness, and/or Affectation of the Optic Nerve-

Head shake.

"Concussions?"

-Probably-

"Probably?"

-Fights-

"Oh. Right. Ever have an MRI or other brain scan?"

Head shake.

"That's everything the boss wants for now. Knowing her, she'll have more later. Can I text you if she thinks of something else?"

Pietr pulls out his phone and looks up expectantly.

Chuck dictates her number.

_beep boop beep beep_

> **p_a_vos :** hi

_bzzzzz_

> **not_a_monkey :** ditto

They pocket their phones in tandem.

Pietr grins.

Chuck makes a face. "Fairy floss again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8 January 2019
> 
> ALC and I are trying a Tumblr experiment. Since this story's so episodic, we've started posting the bits as they’re finished (roughly) with images at [pietrvos.tumblr.com](http://pietrvos.tumblr.com). The idea is to mimic Pietr's pile of favorite photographs and the stories they evoke.
> 
> We'll keep updating the story here where all the bits will go chronologically.
> 
> When the story's finished, both the Tumblr and this fic will have exactly the same text content.
> 
> For now, though, the Tumblr has spoilers for this fic, so don't go over there if you don't want a peek into the future.


	18. Exclusion

8 January 2019 – Sydney

 

The closer they get to the Exclusion Zone, the paler and fidgetier Chuck grows.

Chuck picks up on it first: "Ducking relax, fuck, we're not actually going **in**."

"Oh, yea, like yer all hunky dory."

"I am, believe it or not, 'cause we'll will fine."

"Well I don't, and like you would know."

"I would, seeing as you could fucking see Reckoner's giant fucking ass from the fucking Shatterdome roof."

"That certainly explains the shite ton of holes in yer head."

"Pretty sure all's that on you, Ducky."

"Unless ol' Reckoner made you **Incompatible**. Doomed the Drift before we even met."

"There's no evidence to suggest that exposure to an exclusion zone affects a person's ability to Drift," Caitlin murmurs. "Ability to be alive, sure. Although, I wonder if there's a way to test for that …"

"Which kind?" asks Sergio.

"What do you mean?"

"An Exclusion Zone or a Nuclear Exclusion Zone?"

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"Didn't use a nuke in Hong Kong. They did here."

"Thought they did."

"Pretty sure they stopped with that after Scissure."

Fidgety Chuck cringes.

"You know how wimpy the _Braves_ were before the upgrade. Who's to say China didn't use a nuke? "

"Are you **actually** gonna argue China bombed downtown Hong Kong?"

"I'm saying it's a possibility."

"And how're you gonna prove that?"

Caitlin frowns.

"Cat, **please** don't go poking into other countries' military, especially China. Universal Compatibility, remember?"

"'ey, Ducky," Chuck sneers. "Better kiss _Str_ —"

"Chuck," Sergio warns.

"What?"

"Quit it."

"Nothing points to a neurotoxin; just massively corrosive so we **should** be fine—." Caitlin blinks, sits up straight. "Did you get them both to shut up at once?" She giggles, "That's useful."

"Why're ye takin' his side?!"

"Oh no, I recognize this argument and I'm not playing the parent."

"Ye told me t' shut up 'n not him!"

"I told you **both** to shut up, conveniently at the same time."

"Then why ye wait until **I** said something?!"

"I waited until I finished convincing Caitlin not to go snooping into classified military documents!"

"Maybe he did it 'coz ye were—"

"Tellin' th' truth?!"

"Am I asking the driver to turn this van around?"

"No one actual doesly that!"

"I'm about to!"

"No, you're not! We've got a Hypothetical to test!"

The Hypothetical in question naps, oblivious.


	19. Sleepytime

8 January 2019 – Sydney

 

The magnet stops rotating.

Caitlin stares vacantly at the monitor.

Wordlessly, Chuck okays the data transfer to a tablet.

A knock at the door.

Chuck answers.

"Doctor Lightcap?" asks an orderly.

Chuck opens the door wider.

"Session ends in five minutes."

Chuck nods.

"Let the nurses' station know when you're done, please."

Chuck nods again.

The orderly smiles and leaves down the hall.

Chuck closes the door, stares at it for a moment, then plods by a still vacant Caitlin, a dozing Chuck, and into Imaging. She goes around the back first and pokes Pietr's forehead—he starts awake, remembers where he is, doesn't sit up—and then around the front to call the table.

Pietr's stretching when it clunks to a stop—toes pointed, arms behind his head.

Chuck pats his stomach, steps out of the way.

He sits up, yawns, blinks a couple times, and smiles at Chuck.

She smiles back, inclines her head.

He hops off the table and starts towards the control room.

Chuck steps on his heel.

Pietr smiles.

"Sorry!"

Thumbs up.

They get to the door without further incident.

Pietr nods 'After you.'

Chuck pats his shoulder. Plods to Caitlin.

Pietr stops before a dozing Chuck. Frowns. Pokes his head.

"Whu?"

Chuck says, "Ready?" propping the door open with her foot.

Chuck blinks. Yawns.

Pietr yawns.

Caitlin yawns. Shuffles into the hall.

Chuck sways to his feet.

Pietr guides him to the door.

Chuck falls into step between them.

Chuck shoves her.

Chuck stumbles—Pietr steadies her with a hand on her back—shove—tucks herself against his side.

Chuck steps behind, squeezes between them, and pushes Chuck away and into—

Caitlin's legs tangle in Chuck's, doesn't look up, "Nooo tumors …"

Pietr lunges, pulls Caitlin free. Sees her safely to the Imaging waiting room, to a chair beside her husband.

Sergio snuffles in his sleep, shifts closer.

She smiles, plays with his hair. "Pretty delta waves."

One down, two to go.

Pietr goes to the door, blocks it. Frowns disapproval at Chuck, frowns disapproval at Chuck.

They don't notice. They're scuffling.

Pietr rolls his eyes, pulls them apart.

They jockey for his left hip.

Pietr sighs, scruffs boy Chuck, steers him to his other side.

Chuck huffs.

Chuck clings to his arm.

All the easier to herd them into the waiting room.

"'n lots of BOLD …"

Sergio snorts awake.

"'n nooo see-able brain damage."

"Anythin' interestin' in there, Cat?"

"All the amplitudes are wibbly …"

"Umm ... right. So, can we go back to the 'Dome and get some sleep?"

"Basil and the hares want sugared ganglia …"

"I think that's as close as we're gonna get, kids. Let's go find our ride home. This way, Cat."

~~~~~~~~

Pietr and the Chucks stumble into the Hansen quarters.

Girl Chuck collapses first, yanking Pietr down onto the couch after her.

He snorts, smiles, settles in.

Boy Chuck scowls, sniffs, pushes in between them—

Chuck grumps, lashes out and kicks his hip, snuggles closer to Pietr. Dozes off.

Chuck fumes, swats Chuck away, tries—

Pietr sighs, bars Chuck's path. Gestures 'I've got another side, you know.'

"I'm worried 'bout ye, that's all," grumbles Chuck, slumping on the other side.

Pietr ruffles Chuck's hair—Chuck doesn't protest—and kisses his temple. He slouches further into the cushions, rests his head on Chuck's shoulder. Dozes off.

Chuck grins. Dozes off.

~~~~~~~~

Herc and Scott return from patrol, except the former stops midway through the door.

Scott plows into his back. Glances over. "Did he drug 'em?"

"First time in the same room they haven't been at each others' throats since last …"

An awkward pause.

"New kid's a miracle worker, ay?"

"Must be."

"Better let 'em sleep."

"Yea."

They pad to their rooms.


	20. Go Team Science!

At five in the morning, a cellphone lets loose a chorus of bird calls.

Herc's just coming from the washroom, steps aside as Max waddles from Scott's room, and follows the wrinkle ball to the couch and the birds, specifically the left side of the couch which really doesn't mean a whole lot considering half of Charlotte's buried under Pietr and Chuck's toppled onto him.

Nothin' for it, then.

Herc touches her wrist.

Charlotte starts awake.

"Yer alarm," he says softly, scooping up Max.

She blinks, pushes herself up--sets off a chain of knocking elbows, groans, yawns, and arms in faces--and pulls out her phone, fumbling it with fingers not quite connected to her brain.

Still chirping, it hits the floor and then Charlotte does, diving under the table in pursuit.

" **Ha!** " She's got it in hand.

**BANG**

"Ngamadaan!"

Chuck snickers.

Pietr helps her back to the couch.

"Thanks." She rubs the back of her head-

Pietr swats her hand away, checks for a bump under her hair.

Charlotte tugs insistently at his sleeve.

He offers a thumbs up.

She smiles.

"Why th' hell we up so early?" grumbles Chuck.

"Why're we up so early?" echoes Charlotte.

"Yea, I **just** asked ye."

"I... I- don't..." She finally silences the birds. "Reasons?"

"Yer flight's in a bit, right?" offers Herc.

"That's a good reason," says Charlotte.

" **Finally** ," huffs Chuck.

Charlotte glares, leans-

"Chu- Charlotte, change of clothes, shower, general getting ready."

-across Pietr into throttling range of Chuck.

"Pietr, Chuck-,"

Pietr rolls his eyes, pushes them apart.

"Jest... Max needs a walk. Go do that." Dog poured into Chuck's lap.

Pietr gives Herc a thumbs up, grabs each Chuck by the upper arm, and tows them out the door.

"I don't know- I don't remember packing more," Charlotte mumbles.

Herc chuckles and shakes his head.

  


They get to the temporary Drift Science à la Lightcap lab and neither Chuck will let go of Pietr.

He bops older Chuck's shoulder with his own.

She smiles, bops him back.

Chuck's not impressed; he hugs Pietr's arm more tightly and glares at Chuck.

Max woofs.

Pietr smiles, nudges older Chuck forward.

She takes a step, smiles.

Pietr gently pushes her through the door.

"Morning, Monkey," says Sergio. "I think I've packed everything."

"Did I bring clothes?" asks Chuck.

"Uh," Sergio looks up, notices Pietr. "Good morning."

Pietr bobs his head.

"I might have some spare socks?"

"Oh." She swallows.

Pietr squeezes her arm, gives his best encouraging smile.

"I guess, um, I should check." Baby steps.

Pietr squeezes her hand.

Chuck squeezes back, snaps away, clasps her hands. "Okay, I'll see you later?" Wipes her palms on her pants. "Soon, I guess?"

Pietr nods, crosses his heart.

Younger Chuck scowls, tugs him towards the hall.

"Uh, bye," murmurs older Chuck.

Pietr waves, disappears through the door.

  


"Cait."

"Mm."

"Cait, it's time to wake up."

"Mmrm."

"C’mon, Cait. We gotta go."

"P'rol can wai'."

"Not patrol, Eleven. Up you go."

"Nooooo. Wanna sleep."

"You can sleep on the plane, promise."

"Why we leaving so early?"

"It's a long flight. Gimme a hand, Cait-! Not that kind of hand."

"Mmm. You smell nice."

"Yes, thank you, that's- Cait, we're going to be late- Cait, don't- in you go- no, I've already showered, it's your turn, okay, I'm sorry-,"

"Shit! Cold! **Sergio**!"

"I'll get you coffee!" 

  


At this hour, and in this part of the Shatterdome, this particular J-Tech shower room's deserted save for one occupant.

Herc stops outside and frowns.

_Squelch squelch_

The shower room's unisex but it's also the support staff shower room and technically he's not allowed in there-

"Ranger Hansen?" asks Ata.

"Lookin' for Chu-rklotte."

"Oh." She leans in-- 

_squelch_

\--hollers, "Chuck!"

"What?" Charlotte yells.

"Ranger Hansen's looking for ye."

"Ducky, I swear to fuckin'-,"

Herc calls, "Older Hansen."

"Oh. Uh, gimme a sec. Thanks, Ata."

"Yer welcome." She smiles. "I'm going to find a shower over that way."

"Don't mean to chase you away!" calls Charlotte.

"I have mud to track. Have a nice flight!"

"Thanks, say goodbye to Rama for me."

"You got it, bye!" Ata sorta-smiles at Herc. "You can probably go in? I mean ye don't have to--," She huffs. "Have a great day."

_Squelch squelch squelch_

The water stops.

"I, uh, got you a kit," says Herc.

"Oh thank god," laughs Charlotte. "I remembered more than enough quantum cables but only two shirts."

"It's ... it's _Striker_ gear."

"It's- really?"

"I, um, well, I think you should have it."

"Thanks, H- I really- I really appreciate it. Could you just, uh, leave it on the shelf? I'll be out in a sec."

"'course."

Herc rests against the privacy wall. "It's the generic Corps logo, hope ye don't mind."

"I have clean clothes- why would I mind? Stupid arms..." Struggles for a moment. "Guess Ducky 'n..." Swallows. "Guess Ducky 'n Pietr'll be designing it?"

"Soon, probably. Marshall plans on gettin' Pietr up t’ speed fast as the kid kin learn."

"Good plan. You ever seen _The Lion King_?"

"Bits, yea."

"Remember that cave painting of Simba?"

"Mostly."

"Ours was gonna be a dog done like that. Not African, obviously, it'd be Ganggalidan 'n not, well, **cute** , but, ye know, words. Pictures."

"Woulda looked great, I bet." Herc looks at his shoes. "Listen, Chu- Charlotte, I've been... I've wanted..." He takes a breath. "Stacker's been keepin' me up t' date on how ye're doin'."

"... Oh."

"Must've been a relief to start walkin' again."

"Uh, yea, look, I might be a while-,"

"I don't-,"

"Can you just-!"

Herc goes quiet.

"I'll, uh, see you outside."

"Sure thing." He leaves. 

  


The next trial comes in the form of a cardigan-wearing mathematics expert whom Caitlin is delighted to see.

"Hermann! What're you doing back in Anchorage?"

'Just go with it,' mouths Sergio.

"There was a talk..." says Hermann, looking at Sergio.

Gets a thumbs up.

"And I was curious about your new project."

Caitlin beams. "Greatest thing since _Typhoon_ was a twinkle, lemme tell you."

"Doctor Lightcap, Ranger D'onofrio," says Marshal Nguyen. "I'm glad I found you." Nods at Gottlieb. "Good morning, Doctor."

"Good morning, Marshal," greets Gottlieb.

D'onofrio nods.

"How's the cold treating you?" asks Lightcap.

"I'm finding it a bit brisk," Nguyen replies. "Your taxi's arrived, if you would...?"

"Right, yes, Sergio, where are we going?"

"Sydney."

"Oo, lucky us!"

"Not if you miss your flight," says Nguyen. "Shall we?"

Gottlieb offers his arm. "May I walk you to the door?"

"Why thank you, Hermann," replies Caitlin, linking their elbows. "Sergio, will you check on Monkey?"

"On it, Cait. Doctor, Marshal- good morning, Hercules.”

Nguyen does not sigh. “Ranger Hansen.” They were so close to the doors! "It's very good to see you, but we must be off."

"Uh, of course, Marshal." Nods at Lightcap, glances about but D'onofrio's gone. "Hope you and yours have a nice flight."

"Thank you," smiles Lightcap. "Same to you."

"Thanks, Doctor, have a nice- good day, the three of you." Brief smile to Gottlieb. "Good day, Doctor, Marshal."

"Good day, Ranger," replies Gottlieb.

"Thank you, Ranger," says Nguyen. "Come along, you two." 

  


The pre-dawn air sits heavily in their lungs and both Pietr and Chuck are thinking one-fifth of the Shatterdome's perimeter may be a bit overzealous. Max, however, remains unaffected by the looming storm front, wiggles from his collar, and waddles headlong to the Marshal's personal assistant, one Officer Nguyen, and her bike.

"Hey guys," Chantell yawns.

Pietr waves.

"Why're you awake?" grumps Chuck.

Chantell shrugs. "What can I say? I'm conscious, I'm happy, I've got a great head start on the day oh god I want to sleep whyyyy..." She hangs her head.

Pietr pats her shoulder.

She straightens. "He knows- you know what I'm talking about. If there's no sun, it's too early."

"It's twenty-five after."

"Shit! I gotta run. Later!"


	21. Go!

Nguyen runs through his list: Doctor Lightcap, awake, ready to go, outside? Check. Doctor Lightcap's gear, packed, outside, getting loaded into the taxi? Check. Addendum: thank Officer Martin for doing that. Doctor Lightcap's people, awake, ready to go, outside?

Ranger D'onofrio cradles a black chunk of plastic the size of a shoebox. "I remembered the backup," he reports.

"Monkey?" asks Doctor Lightcap.

D'onofrio blinks, closes his eyes. "I forgot Monkey."

"Who forgot Monkey?" asks Officer Darling.

Lightcap and D'onofrio beam.

"May I...?" asks the latter, hefting the hard drive.

Darling hands over her duffel.

"Thanks."

"Let's put it with everything else, shall we?" suggests Nguyen.

D'onofrio's wondering how to do this because...?

Lightcap continues, "Anyway, Hermann, the potential benefits to this-,"

"Hey, Rapunzel!" calls Ranger Jones (the older).

Aha! D'onofrio's out of hands.

"Th' hell you want, Jones."

Nguyen leaves Lightcap for a moment - car-bound, please please please - and offers a hand-

Ranger Jones says, "'s good to, uh ... **see** you. Again."

\- except D'onofrio's tucked the harddrive just inside and holds the bag like he would a child so that's good. Now Officer Darling-

"Good to see you, too, mostly. Bye."

Oh. Okay. Nguyen can focus on Lightcap but oh Chantell, where are you?

"I mean--!"

Chuck stops mid-step, turns back around.

"It's nice t' see you happy again."

"'scuse me?"

"Back, uh, when ye transferred from Hong Kong, ye were really prickly. Angry--'n ye shoulda been--'n then Chuckles graduated, started followin' you around 'n ye seemed happy. Hopeful. I dunno." He rubs the back of his neck. "It's nice to see y' smile again."

"Oh. Uh, thank--aaah. Thank ye, Jackson, that's, uh, really nice to hear. I think."

"Eh, yer welcome. Whatever. Hope ye don't freeze t' death r' somethin'; wouldn't do t' save ye twice."

"You think I need **saving**?"

"Ye've gone all soft hangin' with those scientist types."

"Yer tryin' **that** again?"

He shrugs. "'s true."

"'n which one a' us wound up in an arm lock yesterday?"

"Only 'coz y' suckered me while I was **tryin'** t' be **nice** t' ye! I mean," Hands in pockets, shoulders back. "I'd come with ye 'n keep ye warm but it's not really my thing."

"I can take care of myself, asswipe."

"Well, ye know, heard yer missin' brain matter, wanted t' make sure ye made it alright."

"Since I still clobbered yer ass **and** Logan's by myself at th' same time, clearly I'm not as gone as previously thought."

"Ye got an assist from Vos with that--"

Chuck steps closer.

"--but rumors of yer death have been greatly exaggerated. Skill? Maybe not." He smirks, starts back inside. "Lemme know if ye need some'ne te take care ye."

"Hey, Eugenie?"

"Cute, Rapunzel."

"Thought it was apt, actually--"

He turns.

"It's so cold that close to the pole, 'n yer balls are so small..."

Jackson glares.

"You might just lose 'em." She smirks. "We could be princesses together."

He lunges-- "Oh, that's **it!** " --and grabs her by the lapels.

Chuck gets a fistful of his jumper, next, take out an elbow, stun the solar plexus, neck, spine-

"For goodness' sake!" Nguyen pulls them apart. "You couldn't stop fighting for five minutes? Five minutes, that's it! They'd be gone!" He glances back at the car... where D'onofrio's looking rather confused and there's no Lightcap in sight.

Because a youngest Hansen's appeared and she's talking at Vos.

"You," he tells Jones, "Shatterdome." Turns to Darling. "Would you lend D'onofrio a hand, please?"

Darling nods and plods off.

Nguyen hurries to across the tarmac, not missing the dirty look Darling tosses over her shoulder at Jones, and takes Lightcap's arm. "Doctor," he sighs. "I'm sure Cadet Vos will be happy to arrange a teleconference once you're back on the ground."

"But-,"

"Marshal," warns Gottlieb.

Hansen rushes past, snarling "Why th' fuck 're ye wearin' that?"

Darling snaps, "'cause it's clean."

D'onofrio you were right there... Even Officer Martin?

"Ye shouldn't be. It's not yers."

Vos hurries by and Jones- no, just get in the 'Dome-

"Then I'll mail it back."

"Don't bother. I don't want whatever's wrong with-!"

"Ye fuckin' prick!" Jackson roars, hauling him-

“OI!”

Pietr thanks Jackson, plucks Chuck back-

“The **fuck** ‘re ye doin’?!”

“Really?" Chuck growls.

“Din’t need te hear his crap.”

“Yer **my** copilot!”

Pietr glares.

“After all that?” Chuck spits.

“Well, it’s- it’s yer stupid brain, ‘s all.”

“Yer supposed te be on my side!”

::You’re being mean, Chuck.::

“Oh, right, poor little broken Chuck-,”

Chantell calls, “I have breakfast!”

"Officer!” cries Nguyen. “I said **half** past!"

She holds up a lunchbox. "Break. Fast.” Digs through her bag, balancing the kit on her hip-

Vos takes it away.

“Thank you~!” Offers Hansen two crumpled pastry bags. “ _Gipsy Danger_ doughnut fer ye, Pietr, same, Jackson, this is fer ye, whenever I find it…”

D’onofrio emerges from behind the car with a tyre. “Flat’s fixed. Where…?”

“I’ll take that,” says Officer Martin and she rolls it away.

The driver thanks them, gets in the car and starts it.

“Kin ye give that to…?”

"Ranger Jones," calls Nguyen. "If you would get the door for Doctor Gottlieb, please."

Vos hands off the lunchbox.

Gottlieb raises an eyebrow.

Jones glares, grumbles, “I’ll see ye inside, Officer.”

“What’s this?” asks D’onofrio.

“Snack for the ride,” explains Chantell. “Wait. What?”

"Thank you, Marshal," says Gottlieb. "Safe travels, Caitlin," and calls, "Good day, Ranger."

“Well, this's awkward,” cringes Chantell. “I’m sorry, Doctor, I didn’t know ye'd be here.”

“That’s fine, Officer,” smiles Gottlieb. “Ranger Jones?”

“Bye, Hermann!” calls Lightcap.

Chantell smiles broadly at Darling, "Didn’t forget about ye, promise."

“Cait?”

She offers Nguyen a hand. “It’s good to see you, Marshal.”

He shakes it. “Likewise, Doctor. Have a safe flight.”

“Thank you. Sergio, where are we going?”

“Sydney, Eleven.”

“Aha!” Chantell presses a paper bag into Darling’s hands.

“But yer **in** Sydney,” says Hansen.

Darling meeps.

“Right! Hypothetical!” Lightcap spins around. “Pietr-,”

“NO!”

D’onofrio scoops up Lightcap and Nguyen tucks her head down and gets the door.

Darling’s eyes reflect far too much light. "You got me Vegemite?" she breathes, holding the jar reverently.

Chantell swallows a coo, goes on tiptoe, and cradles Darling’s head.

Darling squeezes her back.

Chantell blinks rapidly. "Let's get you in the car," she suggests, taking her arm. "Straight outta production. Better than spiders, ay?"

Vos gives his best affronted pout.

“Aw, someone wants in,” grins Chantell.

Darling smiles weakly.

“He’s my-!”

“Oh fer goodness’ sake, Chuck!” Chantell snaps. “It’s not a proposal!”

Vos enfolds Darling in a warm hug.

“Seriously. Chuck. Quit. It.”

Darling presses her head to his shoulder.

“Eat yer stupid doughnut or wait for yer copilot but give 'em a moment!”

Vos strokes her hair.

“Officer,” says Nguyen gently. “It’s time to go.”

Darling shivers, pulls away, swallows. “Right. Uh, bye, guys.”

Vos squeezes her shoulder, elbows Hansen.

He grumbles, “Bye.”

Chantell beams.

Vos waves.

Nguyen offers the door.

Darling hesitates.

“Officer?”

One last wave; she ducks in.

The taxi peels off in a cloud of dust.

"Coffee?" offers Chantell.

"You're a godsend."

"You know it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pickleplum: Necessary bit of background information, here. Jackson Jones suffers from the middle name 'Eugene', hence girl Chuck's nickname for him. It's a family name, ay?


	22. Bet

The day after Team Drift Science leaves, it’s business as usual at the Shed.

Pietr soaks a clean swab with antiseptic and aims for a scraped elbow.

Chuck hisses, winces.

::We need to hire a nurse for you.::

“I can’t help it half ‘a this damn base has it in fer me!”

::Ever wonder why?::

Chuck shrugs. “Jealous, prob’ly.”

Pietr looks skeptical, points to the hand-shaped bruise just above Chuck’s patched elbow.

“Jackson’s jest an asshole,” grumbles Chuck.

Pietr rolls his eyes ‘takes one to know one.’

“Oi!”

::You were trying to make Chuck cry. On purpose.::

“It was her fault.”

::No, it wasn’t.:: Dabs at another cut.

Chuck glares.

Pietr fans out a box of bandages and offers them.

“Don’t care.”

Frowns thoughtfully, puts them away, and smooths down an _Echo Saber_ bandage. ::Bet you can’t go a week without a fight.:: Smirks.

Chuck’s eyes take on a calculating light. “Wha’ d’ye bet?”

::Dinner at your favorite restaurant.::

Chuck rolls his eyes.“Do ye think ‘a **anythin’** besides food?”

Pietr beams. ::Wife.::

Chuck beams.

Pietr snickers and pokes his forehead.

Chuck blinks, shakes his head to clear it. “Oh. Right.”

::What do I get if you lose?::

“Uh … fancy coffee with breakfast fer a week.”

::You’re confident.::

“Yea. That a problem?”

Pietr waves ‘not at all,’ grins. ::It’s a bet. Seven days with no fighting, starting now.:: Offers his hand.

Chuck shakes.


	23. Squire

**0400 — Wake up & get ready; quarters**

Th’ alarm screams.

Smack it.

Silence.

Flop back into pillow.

It's just yer clock, Derek.

Breathe deep.

No Kaiju, no emergency, just yer clock.

Heart rate drops t’ mostly normal.

Roll out, grab kit, head fer th’ washroom.

Swallow meds, floss, brush teeth.

Inta th’ shower. Shampoo, rinse, soap, rinse.

Outta th’ shower. Towel dry, wrap up, shave, dress.

Check reflection: Brown hair, brown eyes, kinda pasty but ye still look healthy and you'll get some color in no time except for the wonky blotch where yer brother almost broke yer neck.

Straighten collar.

Deep breath.

Back t’ worktable.

Check tablet fer schedule.

Hasn’t changed since last night. Good.

Check email, write emails, review latest memos, organize some files.

Time t’ go.

Deep breath, shoulders back.

Lock th’ door behind.

 

**0500 — Meet Jamie; mess hall C**

“It’s not **nearly** as bad as they make it sound at Personnel,” drawls Jamie, pushing his empty tray aside. “Y’ pretty much jest keep a calendar ‘n nag yer boys ‘til they do what they’re supposta.”

“But m— …” Deep breath.

“Say Baby Hansen’s th’ worst thing ever, yea?”

Nod.

“Li’l sucker loves ‘n argument—’er a fight—but his copilot’s bin keepin’ him in line lately.” He snorts. “Doesn’t help his attitude none yer brothers do ev’rythin’ they can t’ piss 'im off.” Jamie side eyes Derek. “Betcha know what that’s like, ay?”

Swallow, rub neck. “L-l …” Sigh.

“Well, maybe he’ll leave y’ be since he’s got Junior t’ torment.”

Poke spoon inte oatmeal dregs.

“Ye’ll be **fine** , kiddo. My boys give ye any trouble, jest lemme know. I kin take care ‘a it.” He smirks, leans over, whispers, “I control th’ bail money.”

Laugh so hard, so suddenly, heads turn.

Go bright red.

Jamie claps ye on the back, laughing, too. “Less' go meet yer Rangers.”

 

**0630 — INTRODUCTION TO CADETS HANSEN & VOS; Marshal’s office **

“Team Striker,” says Marshal Nguyen, “meet your handler, Officer Derek Jones.”

Th’ curly top’s eyebrows jump t’ his hairline.

Oh dear god I've fucked up.

“Thought we were supposed t’ call ‘em Squires,” grumbles the redhead.

“That depends on Mister Jones’ preference. In any event, Officer, this is Pietr Vos—”

Th’ one with curly blonde hair smiles ‘n waves.

“—and Chuck Hansen.”

“Y’ look familiar,” declares Hansen.

Oh my god. He’s got no idea who I am.

Vos sighs.

Oh god. Shuffle feet. “Well, umm …”

Vos nudges Hansen with a notepad.

Wha’did he write?

Hansen blinks. Stares. Blinks again. Squints. “Yer Jackson ‘n Logan’s brother.”

“Umm, yea?”

“And yer workin’ fer us now.”

“Yeeeeaaa?”

Hansen looks to Vos.

Vos shrugs. Says something in sign language.

“No kiddin’.”

 **Please** let that’ve been ‘bout Jack ‘n Logan.

Find voice. “’S true, ay? Ye don’t talk, Cadet Vos?”

Vos scribbles somethin’, turns the notepad. -Pietr. Chuck translates / I write til you learn sign-

“Oh. Okay. I kin deal wi’ that. I-I’ll git started straight away.”

Vos—Pietr—beams, hugs ye.

Freeze.

Hansen rolls his eyes. “D’ye have t’ hug **ev’ryone**?”

Cautiously pat Pietr’s back.

Pietr says somethin’.

Hansen yelps, “ **What?!** Don’t you even—mmmfff!”

Pietr’s tacklehugged him.

“What’ve I gotten myself inta?”

Th’ Marshal pats yer shoulder. “Welcome to Team Striker, Officer Jones.”

 

**0700 — TACTICS INSTRUCTION; conference room 018B**

“I did Tactics at th’ Academy,” whines Hansen.

Pietr, walking backward, replies.

“I **know** ye haven’t. But why should I—”

Hansen flicks a hand t’ th’ left—

Pietr sidesteps, dodgin’ a marine.

“—haveta do it **again**?”

More signs.

“I don’t **need** a **review** , ye fruit loop. I had th’ best score **ever**!”

Flicks hand right.

Pietr slips ‘round an equipment cart, waves ‘gripe, gripe, gripe,’ rollin’ his eyes.

Hansen pouts.

“Uh … should I- anythin’ y’ want me t’ do fer ye while yer in class?”

Hansen shakes his head, sulks through th’ door.

Pietr shows a note, bats his eyelashes. -Have coffee ready?-

“Oh, uh, sure. Mess hall okay?”

Nods, holds up two fingers.

“Two cups? Sugar ‘er cream?”

Makes a hex sign.

“Black. I’ll bring ‘em.”

Thumbs up, hugs you.

This’s apparently a thing fer him.

Pat pat. Smile. Sorta.

He grins, bounces through th’ door, waves t’ th’ instructor.

 

**0730 — Introduction to _Striker_ Quartermaster Campbell; Campbell’s office **

“So yer th’ one t’ draw th’ short straw, ay?" says th’ guy behind th’ nearly-buried desk. “Don’t envy ye a bit.” He offers a hand. “Ryan Campbell, Quartermaster fer all things _Striker_ , at yer service.”

Wipe palm. Shake. “Derek Jones.”

“Yer brothers know ‘bout yer new job yet?”

Blood turns to ice.

“Thas’ gonna be a fun li’l chat.”

Swallow. Nod.

“Well, if y’ need a quiet place t’ hide, I got **plenty**. Y’ may even be able t’ find yer way back. Eventually.” He grins. “Hand over yer tablet ‘n I’ll git y’ set up in th’ system.”

Dig tablet from satchel.

Campbell snags it from yer hand— “Thank ye.” —’n vanishes behind his mountain ‘a paperwork.

Grab a spare tablet.

Start lookin’ fer sign language instructions.

There’s more ‘n one kind? Which one does Pietr, uh, ‘speak’? Is that th’ right word?

Mental note: Ask him.

Campbell reappears from behind Mount Paper, hands back yer tablet. “Y’ already know WholeMaster, yea?”

“Th’ calendar part …”

“Good start. Got y’ hooked up t’ add items, not jest read ‘em. Th’ rest ‘a it works th’ same way. Also put MaintainMe an’ MasterPlanner on there. Used 'em before?”

“Umm … no? Was I ‘sposed to?”

“Nah. MaintainMe’s our system for trackin’ trouble tickets ‘cross th’ Corps. Repairs fer equipment, software, ‘n facilities. WholeMaster does requisitions, medical records, pretty much ev’rythin’ but travel. It kin handle reminders, calendars, appointments, what have ye; I prefer MasterPlanner’s interface m’self.”

“It- MasterPlanner? Does, uh, travel, right?”

“Y’ got it. ‘n now that ye got yer ‘V,’ y’ make plans fer th’ Rangers, it automatically adds ye, too.” He glances back at his desk, sighs. “Don't think **anyone** on our team’s goin’ any **where** anytime soon. Prob’ly under house arrest ‘til th’ big girl launches.” Shrugs. “There’re fat help files on there fer ye, but if somethin’ misbehaves, lemme know.”

“Thank ye, Quartermaster Campbell.”

“No need t’ be so formal, Jones. Call me ‘Campbell.’ I’d say ‘Ryan,’ but we got three ‘a ‘em.”

“Umm … ‘Derek’’s fine, too.”

“Yea, we got plenty ‘a Joneses.” Chuckles.

Join in.

“Good t’ meet’ye, Derek. Jest lemme know if y’ need somethin’.”

“Thanks. I will.”

Shake hands.

Head out as Campbell dives back inte his papers.

 

**0830 — Collect & sort post **

Find th’ cubbies fer Pietr ‘n Hansen's post.

Thank god there’s not much.

Th’ public doesn’t know they’re _Striker_ ’s Rangers yet.

Th’ letters ‘n packages Jack ‘n Logan got after th’ announcement …

Shudder.

Junk.

Junk.

Junk.

Package from Panama City fer Pietr.

Hopefully not harmful.

Scanned clean.

Exhale.

Junk.

Junk.

Junk.

Junk.

Thick envelope from a printin’ comp’ny ‘cross town fer Pietr.

Scanned clean.

Wonder what that’s about.

Pick up th’ packages, tuck ‘em in yer satchel.

“Hey there, **Squire** Jones!”

Startle.

“Uh … hi, Officer Nguyen.”

Chantell rolls her eyes. “You can still call me ‘Chantell’.”

“Umm … okay.”

“You still ‘Derek’ or should I start being all **official** around you?”

“Still Derek.”

Smile.

“Win!” She smiles encouragingly. “How goes it, workin’ boy? New job goin' okay?”

What’s Chantell’s definition of ‘okay’ ‘n how does it align with mine?

“Pietr hug ye yet?”

Laugh nervously. “Twice.”

“Only twice? He’s slackin’ off.” Giggles. “Been here two weeks 'n he’s already got three records.”

Raise eyebrow.

Giggles again. Ticks them off on her fingers. “Most Rangers flattened by a non-Ranger, most coffee drunk in a day, and most hugs given to strangers by an adult.”

Snort.

“So, yea. Not just you.” Looks thoughtful. “I guess you could even argue four; First Ranger-type, uh, older—yeah, let’s go with that—first Ranger-type older Chuck didn’t try to destroy in the first twenty-four hours of their acquaintance.”

Not sure who that is.

“Guess you two never crossed paths. Thought maybe …” She shakes her head. “Anyway.” Smiles. “Gotten your tablet loaded with Squire stuff?”

“Uh, Cam- Quartermaster’s office, they, uh—”

“Lemme see.”

Find tablet.

“You’ve already gotten their mail? Go you!” Chantell makes a face. “May have forgotten to do that fer a couple days when I started. Lessee … MaintainMe, WholeMaster, MasterPlanner. Fantastic ways to waste time waiting for the doctor to finish scolding your charge about their heart …" She gives it back. “Looks like you’re on track. Derek, new job is going well! High five!”

Awesome.

High five.

“So, yea, you can tell anyone who thinks otherwise that Officer Chantell Nguyen in the Marshal’s office says that you are doing **great** 'n if they have a problem with that they can come yell at me 'n I can go ‘Ha! I outrank you!’ Pretty sure I cleaned this jacket yesterday, though …”

Almost contain a laugh.

Chantell doesn’t, says, “Listen, if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”

“Well, could I—if it’s not a problem—have a list of Hansen ‘n Vos’s immediate fam’lies ‘n their birthdays, anniversaries, uh... dates?”

Chantell cocks her head. “Why ye need that?”

Oh god I fucked up. Again.

“Umm, I thought I’d put reminders in WholeMaster, but if that’s not—”

Goes starry-eyed, coos “That’s so **sweet** of you! You’re gonna be the greatest **ever** at this!”

Blush. “Don’t ye—uh—do that fer th’ Marshal?”

“Well, yea, but his family is **my** family, too.”

Go redder. “Oh. Right.”

Study shoes.

“I’ll get you that info soon as I’m back in my office. Good luck on the rest of your day!” Waves.

Wave back.

Head fer th’ mess hall fer coffee.

 

**0945 — COLLECT CADETS; conference room 018B**

Hold out th’ steamin’ mugs, one fer each.

Hansen makes a face, jerks his head toward Pietr.

“They’re fer him.”

Blink.

Still holdin’ the mugs.

Pietr snags both ‘a ‘em, grins, nods ‘thanks,’ downs a third ‘a one in a gulp, sighs happily.

Blink.

“He drinks that stuff **constantly**. Think he has it ‘nstead ‘a blood.”

Pietr ruffles his hair, dodges a return strike without spillin’ a drop.

No wonder this guy’s gonna be a Ranger.

 

**1000 — Self-Defense Class; gym B**

Whhyyyy. Why’s self-defense required?

Can’t there be a’ opt-out fer ‘I had two brothers please excuse me?’

On th’ subject, why’s he followin’ ye?

Hansen took off fer quarters, but Pietr … jest won’t go away.

He opens th’ gym door, motions y’ through.

Stow yer bag.

Pull off yer shoes ‘n socks.

Pietr’s barefoot, too, ‘n his coffee’s balanced on top th’ shelves.

Oh … he’s **teachin’** yer class.

You- This- He’s gonna file a personnel change.

Pietr steps t’ th’ center, claps his hands.

All eyes swivel.

He grins ‘n pulls a li’l Maori girl—th’ mud magnet—outta th’ crowd.

Stands there, completely open, ‘n beckons th’ girl t’ attack him.

Ata— **that’s** her name—walks behind him—

Pietr doesn’t turn.

‘n he can’t hear her.

Is he cra—

Wait.

Hansen an’ th’ coffee.

He kin do this.

—’n wraps an arm ‘round his neck, tryin’ fer a chokehold.

Blink **once**.

An’ she’s standin’ **in front** ‘a him in some kinda arm lock, blinkin’ in surprise.

Pietr lets her go, pats her shoulder, grabs another person from th’ class.

Walks ‘em through th’ attack an’ his counter very slowly.

Three times through, Ata’s counterin’ perfectly.

Pietr thumbs up, grins, gestures ‘ev’ryone find a partner ‘n try.’

Quick count.

Odd number ‘a students.

Maybe I kin sit this one out.

Pietr spots ye.

Shite.

Invites y’ onte th’ mat.

Steps behind ye.

Wraps his arm ‘round yer neck.

Muscles lock.

Stop breathing.

Pietr removes his arm, steps in front ‘a ye.

Signals ye t’ take a deep breath.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Pietr studies yer face fer a beat.

‘m breathing wrong. It’s futile t’ try ‘n teach me. He’s gonna tell me not t’ bother. I’ll never learn.

Steps behind ye again.

Deep breath.

Close eyes.

Do th’ steps y’ remember.

Pietr trips over yer ankle, hits th’ mat.

Vision greys out.

He sits up.

Is he **laughin’**?

He's **laughin’**.

I think ‘m gonna die but it’s th’ anxiety talkin’.

Prol’ly be fine.

Pietr hops up, gets his notepad from th’ shelves.

Prol’ly be fine.

Passes ye a note: -1st non-Ranger to drop me-

He grins, pats yer shoulder.

Flinch.

He gestures ‘try again.’

Ye do.

Six times.

Then Pietr’s in an armlock.

Jest in time fer class t’ end.

Exhale.

Pietr waves ‘goodbye’ t’ th’ other students, ties his boots on, hands ye another note.

-Lunch?-

 

**1145 — Ad hoc task: COLLECT CADET HANSEN; Vos quarters**

Door’s open ‘n inch, so he’s prol’ly inside.

Pietr gestures ‘after you.’

Smile, hover jest inside.

Hansen’s on th’ couch with a bulldog—Max, right?—an’ a tablet; he shuts it off, sits up, ‘n lets Max waddle t’ Pietr. “Finished fabricatin’ another muscle strand,” he reports.

Pietr hops on th’ spot, grinnin’, then stoops t’ pet Max.

“The engines’re supposed t’ come tomorra, but so was this guy so we’ll see.”

Pietr signs.

“Ye bet it’s awesome either way.”

More signing.

“I’ll just grab somethin’ here.”

Pietr seems t’ be makin’ a good argument ‘coz Hansen’s glowering.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Let’s go.”

Pietr shoots ye a grin ‘n skips by.

Hansen slouches over, rollin’ his eyes.

Pietr holds th’ door fer th’ both of ye, freezes before ye’ve taken a step. Turns. Holds a finger t’ his lips. Shoves ye back through inte th’ room.

Stumble inte Hansen.

Get yer legs tangled in his.

Pietr blocks th’ openin’ with his back.

Hit th’ floor.

Take Hansen down, too. “Th’ fuck’s wrong with ye?”

Squeak.

What th’ hell’s—?

“Hey there, Missus Keller!”

Blood freezes solid.

Pietr waves t’ Logan.

“Heard someone new took ye down fightin’ t’day.”

Nods.

“If y’ bump inte him agin, send ‘im my way. Love t’ face off with someone who kin drop **ye**.”

Shrugs ‘sure.’

“Later, Helen!” Logan strolls on.

Pietr turns, grins, thumbs up.

“Why’d y’ do that?”

Fumbles out th' pad. -2 older brothers- Grins.

“An’ ye dint want t’ deal with his shit jest now, ay?” snarks Hansen.

Pietr sighs ‘n nods.

 

**1200 — Lunch; mess hall A**

“I, um, got yer post. I hope, uh, that’s okay?” Fumble in th’ satchel fer th’ mail. “There wasn’t anythin’ fer ye, Cadet Hansen—”

He snorts.

“—but these ‘re fer ye, Pietr.” Offer th’ packages.

Grins, snaps ‘em up. Tears inte th’ Panama packet first. Lights up like a Chris’mas tree.

Hansen perks up. “Whad’ya git?” he asks, leanin’ over t’ see.

Pietr flashes a sealed plastic envelope ‘a … coffee beans?

Hansen rolls his eyes. “Seriously? Someone sent ye **coffee** from ‘cross th’ ocean.”

“Th-the shippin’ cost mus’ be **huge**!”

Pietr grins, says somethin’.

Hansen snorts. “It better be! At that price it’s like drinkin’ **gold**!”

Pietr puts on an affronted look. More signs.

Hansen sniffs. “Like I’d even wanna drink that tar y’ do.”

Pietr sticks out his tongue, turns his attention t’ th’ other package. Lights up agin when a stack ‘a photographs fall out.

“Those from home?”

Pietr keeps flippin’ through th’ pictures.

Hansen grabs a handful of ‘em.

Pietr hisses—

Startle, but of course he kin make sounds, dummy, he’s got lungs.

—snatches ‘em back.

“Oi! I jest wanna see!”

::Wait!::

Blink.

I understood that!

I think.

More signin’.

Hansen crosses his arms, frowns.

Pietr finishes ‘n then, very slowly, turns th’ first picture over ‘n writes somethin’ on th’ back with a pencil. He glares at Hansen, passes it t’ ye.

Hansen glowers.

It’s a pair ‘a cute little blonde kids chasin’ each other, laughin’. On th’ back: -Wil & Marieke, 26/12/18-

Ye catch Pietr’s eye.

He smiles.

“Um … Pietr? If it’s okay, who’re they?” Hold up th’ picture.

Signs. Writes, slides over a note. -Nephew & niece- Repeats th’ signs.

Do yer best t’ mimic.

Pietr beams. Then lunges across th’ table t’ hug ye.

Hansen huffs.

 

**1400 — COMBAT TRAINING; Kwoon**

Legs stop workin’.

That’s th’ back ‘a Jack’s head.

‘N **that’s** th’ back ‘a Logan’s.

They’re here t’ watch yer Cadets’ afternoon trainin’.

Swallow.

Backpedal.

“Is-, um, anythin’ I- ye want while yer b-busy?”

Pietr shakes his head, wades into th’ crowd outside th’ Kwoon.

Hansen mumbles somethin’.

“P-par-pardon, s-sir, Cadet Hansen? I- sorry, I c-couldn’t—,”

“I **said** ye kin walk Max fer me,” he growls. “He din’t git his usual this mornin’ ‘coz I had t’ meet **you** before class.”

Flinch.

“Oh- uh- ‘m sorry, sir. I-I’ll do that.”

Hansen sniffs, spins on his heel.

Turn ‘n **run** fer th’ Hansen quarters.

 

**1420 — Ad hoc task: Walk Cadet Hansen’s dog**

Knock.

Nothing.

Knock louder.

Ranger Hansen opens th’ door. “Yea?”

“I’m, uh, Cadet Hansen’s Squire. He asked me t’ walk Max—uh, his dog—while he’s in th’ Kwoon, sir.”

“Did’e now.”

Go tiny.

Squeak, “Yes, sir.”

Ranger Hansen sighs, steps aside. “’Spose that’s alright. C’min.”

Step through, try not t’ check th’ place out.

“We keep th’ leash next t’ th’ door.” Pulls it down, hands it t’ ye. “C’mon, Max! Walk!”

There’s a ‘woof’ from a distant room ‘n then clickin’ claws. Th’ bulldog moseys over ‘n sniffs yer boots.

Bend down, snap on th’ leash, rub ‘is ears.

Max whuffles, drools.

“He likes ye.”

Glance up.

Ranger Hansen’s smilin’ at ye.

Flush.

Straighten up.

“How far- how long do y’ usually take ‘im?”

“’Bout twenty minutes. Pick a random path outside ‘n he’s happy.”

Nod. “Thank ye, sir. I’ll be back with him soon.”

He rubs th’ back ‘a his neck. “Fergot t’ ask yer name, Officer.”

“Oh, I’m, uh, Derek Jones, sir.”

“Good t’ meet ye, Jones.”

“Same t’ ye, sir.”

 

**1445 — Paperwork; quarters**

I kin barely keep my own life straight—how’m I supposta take care ‘a two ‘a th’ most important guys on th’ planet?

What th’ fuck ‘m I doin’?

… Jest th’ anxiety.

Deep breaths.

I kin do this.

Open WholeMaster.

Fill in th’ birthdays from Chantell.

Pietr’s … married? Rangers kin be married?! ‘Course there are Rangers married t’ each other, but not …

Blink.

Shake head.

Focus.

Hansen’s due fer his annual dental ‘n vision checks.

Schedule ‘em.

Pietr needs th’ full Ranger physical.

Schedule it.

Reminder: Th’ Cadets need t’ submit ideas fer _Striker_ ’s logo t’ th’ art department by th’ end ‘a th’ month.

Reminder: Git Pietr’s signature on his new insurance policy.

Requisition: Three full _Striker_ kits fer Pietr.

Requisition: Four British Sign Language instruction books.

Requisition: 8TB portable data storage device fer Hansen’s design files.

Note: Pietr drinks **lots** ‘a black coffee.

Note: Always face Pietr directly t’ speak t’ him.

Note: **Never** grab Pietr’s hand t’ get his attention.

Note: **Never** insult Max in front ‘a Hansen.

Open MasterPlanner.

Appointments’re sittin’ pretty in th’ calendar.

Holy shite that’s fast.

Confirm them all.

Check tickets fer Pietr’s leave next month.

They’re fine.

Add reminder t’ self ‘bout th’ trip.

Close MasterPlanner.

Open MaintainMe.

Requisitions’re pendin’.

Close MaintainMe.

Check email.

Nothin’ new.

Send email: Ask _Lucky Seven_ ’s Squire which ‘a ye should keep track ‘a Max’s info now.

Send email: Thank Chantell fer birthday info.

Review Cadets’ schedule fer tomorra.

One last email check.

Nothin’.

Close email.

Close WholeMaster.

Power down tablet.

Stretch.

 

**1930 — Dinner; mess hall C**

Fork fulla curry’s halfway t’ yer mouth when—

“Why din’t ye tell us y’ were in town?” Jack slides in across from ye. “We thought ye were still ‘n L.A.”

Fork crashes t’ plate.

Curry lands on yer tablet.

Oh fuc …

“Y’ tryin’ t’ hurt our feelin’s?” Logan drops in beside Jack.

Stare.

“Think he’s been busy,” Jack says sympathetically, but it’s prob’ly patronizin’.

“Too busy t’ talk t’ us? What they have y’ runnin’ about doin’?”

…

Logan nudges Jack. “He’s doin’ that ‘rabbit-in-th’-headlights’ thing agin.”

“Ye still haven’t grown outta that?”

…

Jack sees yer tablet.

Ye watch him take it.

Logan hands him a napkin.

“Think th’ password’s th’ same?”

Jack carefully wipes away th’ curry. “Betcha it is.” He punches it in.

Tablet unlocks.

Yer brothers look at each other.

Feel yerself deflate.

“Lessee … These’re Squire apps.”

“Din’t know there was ‘n openin’. Who fer?”

Tinier target.

“Yer workin’ fer **Chuckles**?!”

Cringe.

Silence.

“This jest won’t do,” says Jack.

“Think we need t’ have a li’l chat with Shortstack, yea?” Logan cracks his knuckles.

Cringe. Again.

“An’ th’ Marshal tomorra.” Jack stands. “No brother ‘a mine’s workin’ fer that—”

“Less’ go find ‘im.”

They rush off.

Ye rest yer head on th’ table.

Deep breaths.

 

**2100 — Debrief with Jamie; quarters**

Jump when someone knocks.

Check the peephole.

Jamie waves, smiles when ye open the door. “How’d yer first day go, Off’cer?”

Ummm …

Damn it.

“Ran inte yer brothers, ay?”

Nod.

“’N then they ran inte yer Rangers.” He straddles yer desk chair. “Logan’s sulkin’ wi’ a’ ice pack over ‘is eye ‘n Jackson swallowed some asprin ‘fore he locked ‘imself in his room.”

“A-about, uh …?”

Shakes his head. “‘M not sure what yer boys look like, but y’ may wanna keep asprin in yer bag tomorra. ‘N bandages fer th’ near future.” He smirks.

Swallow, nod.

“Don’ worry, all ‘a ‘em give as well as they git.” Shrugs. “’N if it gets bad ‘nuff, th’ Marshal’ll step in. Jest do yer job ‘n th’ rest’ll work out.” Pats yer back.

Sigh.

 

**2300 — Turn in; quarters**

Yawn.

Power down th’ tablet.

Change t’ sleepwear.

Brush teeth.

Flop onte bed.

Sigh.

Lights out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Pickleplum:** A quick note about ages. Despite his deferential treatment of Chuck, Derek's actually _older_ than our little Aussie spitfire; he's 18 to Chuck's 15. At this point, he's still taller, too, since Chuck has a growth spurt left to go, but will eventually pass him up.
> 
> The rest of the cast goes like this: Max (4), Ata (21), Pietr (22), older (girl) Chuck (22), Chantell (23), Logan (26), Jackson (28), Jamie (29), and Herc (38). Campbell doesn't have a birthday yet, but's probably closest to the Herc end of the scale. XD
> 
> (For perspective, Raleigh's 20 at this point.)

**Author's Note:**

> All glory to artificiallifecreator, hardest working and best beta in the universe.
> 
> Pietr Vos is the single most insistent character I've ever worked with.
> 
> He started off as a throwaway comment in a discussion between ALC, Gotham, and I trying to fix some timeline confusion in para-canon surrounding the three Hansen Rangers and their various Jaegers, namely _Striker_ 's official launch date is given as _before_ the 'three Jaeger team drop' in Manila that Raleigh mentions in the film at which Travis Beacham asserted _Lucky Seven_ was Herc's Jaeger. The novelization says Chuck only piloted _Striker_ , so that means Scott was in Manila, right? So ... Chuck and _Striker_ , the newest and best Jaeger, were cooling their heels for at least a month? Riiiiiiight.
> 
> So, Chuck's OC first co-pilot was born.
> 
> A morning or two after the original conversation, this (imaginary) blonde guy appeared behind my writing chair and started begging me to tell his story. He turned out to be Pietr Vos and he has utterly refused to leave me alone for a couple of weeks now. Every time I get near a keyboard, he materializes and starts signing frantically at me.
> 
> He's hijacked both Gotham and ALC at various moments, too.
> 
> And, because all three of us are feels-and-fluff junkies, Mister Vos has become quite the tragic sweetheart.


End file.
